


Unfinished Fanfics (Please Adopt!)

by Archaeopteryx_Feather



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 87,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7574941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaeopteryx_Feather/pseuds/Archaeopteryx_Feather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are half-complete fanfics about Starscream, Skyfire, and the Seekers that I wrote about five to ten years ago.  For various reasons, I've decided not to finish the stories, but I thought someone might enjoy them anyway.  The contents include a Decepticons-turned-human fic, a couple stories with Skyfire and Starscream during their early years, a fic where Megatron forces his Seekers to repaint themselves in each other's colors, and even a story where Starscream himself writes a fanfic.  You're welcome to adopt any of these stories if you'd like.  (Rated T for a scene where Starscream is high on painkillers, but otherwise G-rated.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Spacebridge Too Far

**Author's Note:**

> This is the kind of story I love to write, full of wacky antics and Cybertronian/human misunderstandings. There is an ending of sorts written in summary form. As usual, no gore, no slash, and no adult material.

As Megatron’s plans went, this one wasn’t half bad. Even Starscream had agreed with this assessment after only an hour of screaming and howling. And even this display of mild disapproval was due not so much to his distaste for the plan but because at the time Megatron had been kicking him around the command center like a soccer ball. Soundwave himself couldn’t find one weak point in the idea, and he and Megatron and Starscream had been over it several times together. The plan was simple: Synthesize Water of Transformation (WOT). Apply liberally to Decepticon warriors. Turn human and enter the Autobot base. Change back into themselves, take the Autobots by surprise, and win the war. It appeared as straightforward as it was fool-proof. The only thing to complain about was that there wouldn’t be any epic saga of the final battle of Autobot defeat to tell because it would be so easy. Such things did not concern Soundwave however, except as they pertained to morale.

He passed the test tube under the proton beam and watched the final stage of the chemical synthesis. It had taken him several quartex simply to determine the composition of the WOT, and synthesizing it was another matter entirely, but it had proven possible. The proton beam cut off, and the WOT gleamed softly in its beaker. It should be a perfect match to natural WOT. Of course, a few more tests would be necessary to determine that with certainty…

 

After a short Water of Transformation fight, which Megatron allowed in order to relieve some of the pre-mission jitteriness his Decepticons were obviously feeling, he got his troops lined up and looked them over. The Constructicons, the Combaticons, the Stunticons, both flyer triads and even the Insecticons stood at ready, quiet and stiff—the entire Decepticon Earth force. The impression of discipline and silent resolve was somewhat detracted from by the fact that Starscream was squirming in his bonds and trying to spit out the gag, but Megatron's optics swept over the slight incongruity without more than a half stifled smirk. Even together, all of his assembled forces would not have been enough to assure the destruction of the Autobots in an out and out attack upon the enemy base, but with the surprise advantage of the Water of Transformation they would be well-nigh unstoppable. His warriors had already been briefed on the mission details, and since Megatron was happy to leave the boring speeches to Optimus Prime, he swiped his arm through the air and shouted,

“Transform!” A few of the Decepticons promptly began to transform into their alter-modes, but quickly caught on and went human instead. Megatron concentrated on the human form he had picked out, and suddenly the floor got closer and the ceiling rose higher—his senses cut off until all he had were sight, sound, and touch, all dulled—his thoughts lost their crystal clarity and focus—and a host of other alien sensations impinged on his consciousness, among them a loud, continuous high pitched "Iiiieeeeeeeee" noise that was as unpleasant as it was unexpected. He was human.

After a moment of acclimation, he looked over at the other Decepticons to see how well they were reacting. A few of them had fallen over and some of them were staring at their hands and picking at their clothing with fascination and disgust. Chatter ran up and down the line as they pushed on their soft flesh and ran their hands over their faces. He noted that their voices seemed to have remained unchanged for the most part, but sounded softer somehow--or perhaps his hearing was duller. It was difficult to tell because of the shrill "Iiiiiieeeeeeee" noise that rose over the sounds of their conversation, getting higher and higher pitched as the moments passed.

"Shaddup, Starscream!" someone shouted. The noise disappeared.

Megatron quickly noticed that his warriors' choice in clothing was hardly original. The Constructicons were a block of lime green and purple, while the Insecticons were sporting decidedly familiar yellow, black and purple patterns which happened to be identical to those they had in robot mode. He had decided to include the Insecticons in the battle to promote Decepticon unity, and it seemed to be working to some extent. At least, so Soundwave reported, and Soundwave was rarely wrong.

The other clothing they had chosen to wear was for the most part painfully unchanged from the original colors of the wearer. He noticed that Frenzy’s outfit even had a Decepticon sigil still on it. This would never do. He called them to attention with the loudest shout the human vocal apparatus was capable of producing. They looked up, quieting down quickly.

“I can see you will fool the Autobots!” he bellowed, immediately missing the lack of his normally microphone-enhanced voice and his warrior’s normally more sensitive audio receptors. “Because your clothing is so obvious they will never believe that you are _Decept_ icons!” Quickly clothes swam and mutated into a variety of diverse human fashions. Much better. “You have 500 astroseconds to familiarize yourselves with these forms. Then we fly for the rendezvous point!” The shrill, screeching sound began again, and impossibly, it was louder than ever. 

 

“Hey Optimus, some humans just pulled up and want to talk to you about some new Decepticon weapon.” Optimus turned away from the viewscreen to find Bumblebee standing and thumbing in the direction of the door.

“Send them in,” Optimus said gravely, turning away from the computer to await their arrival. A short while later, the humans filed inside. Optimus was surprised both by their number—about thirty-five, which was many more than he normally received—and by the assortment of clothing they wore, which seemed to indicate they came from all walks of life. Megatron’s plan, if indeed these humans were correct--for there had been false alarms before--must be an interesting one. “Greetings,” he said, kneeling down to come closer to their level. “I am Optimus Prime.”

“I know.” A tall, broad-shouldered man in the front stepped up boldly to speak. “I come to tell you of a secret new Decepticon weapon which has been developed.” A slight smirk appeared on the man’s face, as well as upon the faces of many other humans in the audience. A few snickered. Very unusual, Optimus thought. The demeanor of the humans was not in line with the gravity of the claim they were making.

“What is this weapon?” Optimus asked frankly, gesturing for the human to continue. He found it was helpful to augment his words with body language for facially expressive species such as the humans, since his own face was unreadable with the exception of his optics.

“Perhaps you would like a demonstration?” the man asked, the smirk broadening into an out and out nasty grin. Optimus suddenly found his circuitry buzzing with suspicion. Something was wrong about this whole scenario—very wrong. But what?

“That would be helpful,” he said, controlling his voice so that it retained the practiced calm quality he had developed over the millennia. Mentally, he prepared himself to pull out his weapon. 

“Very well,” the man said. Then his grin dropped away into a hard expression, and he shouted, “Now!” The humans dropped into defensive positions and Optimus snapped to his feet, his weapon in his hands in less than an astrosecond. The humans froze momentarily… And then they went crazy.

Screams broke out across the room and suddenly the small creatures were running to and fro across the deck, jumping up and down, and yelling about Megatron’s plan. Bumblebee looked up at him with shock, and Optimus could see he wanted instructions. Optimus did not yet know what they were dealing with, so he held up his hands for quiet and asked loudly,

“Is this the demonstration you spoke of?” The human who had spoken earlier waded in among the small crowd and began to cuff the other humans at random, shouting,

“Silence! Be still! Say nothing!”

“Hey!” Bumblebee cried, jumping up and rushing over to stop him. The humans dashed out of his way with panicked expressions on their faces and started running for the door. Optimus judged that it wouldn’t be a good idea to let them out in this condition, but he couldn’t move without running the risk of stepping on some of them.

“Bumblebee! Stop them!” he ordered instead, and the Bumblebee quickly wheeled and hurried to block the doorway.

“Calm down,” the small yellow transformer urged earnestly as the humans swirled around the exit in frenzied chaos. A few humans managed to slip through, but fortunately Jazz was had been coming up behind Bumblebee to see what all the screaming was about, and caught them before they slipped away. In the meantime, the spokesman had brought a semblance of order to the hysterical main group, and he bellowed for the humans trying to escape to “Get over here and be quiet NOW!” They did.

“What is this?” Optimus asked, putting away his weapon as he noticed most of the group was staring at it with wide eyes.

“The Decepticons developed a… panic ray!” the spokesman said, the former confidence gone from his voice. In its place was a grim tension. The other humans were dead quiet, their faces white.

“I see,” Optimus said, their strange behavior making sudden sense. He did not think that any but the most skilled of human actors could so realistically portray the fearful emotions that he saw on the faces of these humans. Whoever they were, he believed they were sincere about the weapon. “The weapon is currently affecting you?” he asked.

“We can control the effects. To some extent,” the spokesman said. “It seems to be gradually wearing off, since we were hit by it awhile ago.”

“That is good to hear,” Optimus said with a nod. “We will examine you to attempt to determine what this new weapon has done to you. But first, is there anything else you can tell us about it?” The human quoted all the facts he could recall about the ray, and finished,

“You may examine us now,” the human standing next to him started to protest, but the spokesman slapped him hard across the face and sent him sprawling to the ground. Optimus had seen a few occurrences of such behavior among humans, and wasn’t sure what to say to prevent it. Perhaps it was another side-effect of the ray. 

“Violence is unnecessary,” he simply said in a soft, un-angry tone. Being a towering robot usually provided all the authority he needed, without any additional verbal emphasis on his commands to humans.

“I’m sorry. The weapon—” the human started, looking down at the floor in an expression of shame. The human who he had knocked down glared at him, a red hand mark burning on its cheek.

“I understand,” Optimus said honestly. The Decepticons had used mind-control devices on them before, and he himself knew all too well what it was like to unwillingly behave destructively. “Ratchet will do the examination.” Several other Autobots had gathered behind Bumblebee, curious at all the racket. Ratchet stepped forward from among them and smiled reassuringly at the humans. They did not look reassured.

“Just come with me,” he said, motioning for them to follow him to his lab. The spokesman turned and headed after him at a brisk pace, and the other humans fell into line and followed with more reluctance, whispering amongst themselves. Optimus watched them file out. And he mentally began to think of Decepticon applications for a panic ray, and how they might defeat it…

 

“Negative, Optimus. I can’t find a single thing wrong with them,” Ratchet reported. The humans stood together in a close cluster in front of him. They were calmer, but their faces still displayed a low albedo which Optimus understood was produced by the flowing of blood away from the facial tissue in response to a distressing stimulus. The fact reminded him of the limited knowledge they had of humans.

“Hmm,” Optimus considered aloud. “Perhaps a human doctor will be able to find something we have missed.”

“Doubtful,” the spokesman (Optimus still didn’t know his name. He would have to correct that.) stated.

“Perhaps,” Optimus agreed partially. “Our scanners are very advanced, but we lack your doctors' skills in interpreting the results. Especially since the effect of this ray seems to be psychological as well. We will make our data available to a human doctor for examination.”

“I’ll find a good doctor Optimus,” Bumblebee volunteered.

“Very well,” Optimus agreed. “Tell them it is urgent.”

“I’ll be done in a millivorn!” the other Autobot said, rapidly punching up information on Teletraan One.

“We were all together on the street when it happened,” the spokesman said, his voice taking on a saddened quality. “The ray enveloped us, and we fell to the ground. We came here right away.”

“Rest assured,” Optimus began, reaching forward to put a hand (or rather, a finger) reassuringly on the spokesman’s shoulder in a human gesture of comfort, “We shall find out the cause of this.” The human flinched at his touch and Optimus saw he had made a mistake. He withdrew his hand.

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” the human said anyway.

“Feel free to sit down while Bumblebee makes an appointment,” Optimus said in a kindly voice, and gestured to the floor. The spokesman looked back over them and nodded, and they sat down, huddling in groups to whisper together. 

 

Skywarp and Thundercracker climbed out the same door together, Thundercracker remembering to give a strained thank you to Brawn for driving them to the doctor’s office.

“No problem. Don’t worry, we’ll smash those Decepticreeps to mini-microids for ya!” The Autobot reassured them, obviously looking forward to it. Skywarp laughed weakly and made his escape, Thundercracker following close behind. The other Seeker had had a death grip on his arm since they’d gotten into Brawn, and even though it had quickly become painful (pain, weird!), Skywarp needed the reassurance as much as Thundercracker did. At the front of the Autobot convoy, he could see Starscream and Megatron jumping out of Optimus Prime’s cab.  _Now *that* would be scary_ , he thought. The whole situation was nightmarish as it was—all the Decepticons stuck as humans, stranded far away from the base, with the Autobots millecrons away from discovering them and stomping them into the dirt. At least they were all together. ...Unfortunately. 

“Let’s go see what Starscream and Megatron are saying,” Thundercracker whispered in his ear. Quickly they made their way up through the Insecticon and Combaticon groups towards the ranking Decepticons. Megatron was saying some parting words to Optimus Prime, who had just transformed and placed a small (relative to Optimus Prime, at least) box on the ground with the physical readouts of the scans Ratchet had taken.

“You are in good hands,” Optimus said calmly. “Dr. Edwards and his colleagues are very capable medical professionals.” If it was possible, Skywarp felt Thundercracker’s grip tighten further as Optimus gestured to Dr. Edwards. The Autobot leader was a terrible Devastator-sized colossus, towering monstrously overhead and blotting out the sun with his powerful metal frame. They were both scared and knew it: Autobots were quite a different thing to face when one was a weak, small, defenseless human instead of a robot with a similarly invulnerable metal body which was armed to the teeth.

“Let me thank you once again for what you’re doing for us,” Megatron said, looking up at Optimus Prime without betraying the slightest fear.

“It is the Autobot way to help those in need,” Optimus said seriously. He turned to the rest of the Autobots who had by now unloaded their Decepticon cargos and were standing around talking. “I wish you well. We will discover the Decepticons’ secret device. Autobots, transform, and roll for home!” he commanded. There was the loud sound of numerous transformations taking place as the Autobots returned to vehicle mode, then their engines roared to life and they rolled off down the road, leaving the air heavy with automobile exhaust. At last Thundercracker’s grip relaxed. Immediately the noise level of the other Decepticons’ chatter rose audibly.

“Silence!” Megatron shouted, raising his arms over the crowd for emphasis. The noise quieted, but did not terminate. “Dr. Edwards will be taking us in for examinations in groups. You are advised to sit down and remain calm! Remember, do not forget to tell the doctors everything you know about important matters! Anything you say could be just the clue the Autobots need to find out the Decepticon secret!” Translation: Shut up or someone will overhear you talking and figure out you’re really a Decepticon. He hoped someone would explain that to the dumber members of the army.

“Why don’t you, you, you…” Dr. Edwards began, pointing at Megatron, Starscream and Soundwave, who were all standing together near the front of the medical clinic. “…and you two,” he finished, pointing at him and Thundercracker, “come in first.”   
“We should have stayed in the back,” Skywarp muttered to Thundercracker. Thundercracker nodded grimly. Skywarp could see the fear written on his friend’s face, and he knew Thundercracker could see it on his own as well. Megatron climbed the short set of stairs into the clinic without appearing bothered in the least by the direction the situation was taking. Starscream followed, looking scared witless. Soundwave said a few quiet words to Rumble and Frenzy in their short child-like forms, and they went over and sat next to the Constructicons. The rest of the cassettes had been hiding on the mountainside around the Ark in real Earthen animal forms, waiting for the signal to attack. They had been left behind, and Skywarp knew that at Soundwave’s first opportunity he would be going back to find them. Soundwave walked up the steps with no expression at all. “After you,” Skywarp said to Thundercracker, gesturing graciously at the front door. 

"No no, after you," Thundercracker responded, holding up a hand palm out to turn down the offer.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. After you," Skywarp insisted, pouring on the feigned courtesy.

"We'll go together," Thundercracker said firmly as the door began to close behind Soundwave. Together they walked up the steps and entered the clinic.

The room they stepped into was large and spacious, with magazine-covered couches spread out around it and large pictures hanging on the walls. Plants were emplaced in the corners, creating what seemed to Skywarp to be a jungle-like atmosphere. A human femme sat at a desk near the end of the room, and a hallway next to her led off deeper into the building. Skywarp quickly committed the layout to memory—they might need to beat a hasty retreat soon. A few other humans emerged from the hallway.

“My colleagues, Dr. Wright, Dr. Kajowski, Dr. Hunter and Dr. Asaki,” Dr. Edwards said, pointing to each of the humans in turn.

“And you are?” one of the doctors asked Megatron. Skywarp realized with horror that he couldn’t remember her name—never before in his lifespan had he forgotten a name, except in a few incidences of cranial damage.

“Ryan Kanton,” Megatron said.

“John Rogers,” Starscream said.

“Andrew Holland,” Soundwave stated.

“…uh…” Skywarp started, mouth fluttering open and shut as he wracked his mind and came up blank. “Sky…uh.." He elbowed Thundercracker in the arm, beseeching help.

“Z’btha,” Thundercracker completed. ‘Z’btha’ was the name for a technical component of his teleportation device. “And I’m Stan Baker,” Thundercracker finished smoothly. Brawn had never asked their names in all the time they had been inside of him, mainly because he had been too busy describing what he was going to do to the Decepticons when he got his hands on them. Skywarp had been too unnerved to anticipate the need for a human name, as the others apparently had.

“Well, why don’t you come with me, and Dr. Wright will take you…” Dr. Edwards began to pair them each with a doctor. Skywarp reluctantly parted from Thundercracker, and they exchanged one last supportive glance before falling into line and following their respective doctors down the hallway.

“In here,” the doctor (whose name he could not remember!) said, and they went into a small, white room with metal counters, a chair, and something that looked a bit like a repair table. The doctor picked up a clipboard and handed it to him, along with a writing utensil. “Would you fill this in, Sky?” he said in a pleasant voice. “Feel free to sit down.” Skywarp did, and the doctor took the other chair.

Skywarp didn’t make it past the second blank. He had no address. He had no telephone number (okay, so the Decepticon base _did_ have a telephone number, but it was 91 digits long and he couldn’t remember it either). He had no ‘social security number,’ no ‘insurance provider,’ and no mother or father. He promptly pled amnesia to the information, which was a stupid excuse, but he couldn’t think of anything better. Luckily, the doctor assured him that it was fine and they could skip those parts. Skywarp mentally surged with relief (although nothing happened physically as a human since he no longer had circuitry to surge) and he went on to looking at the symptom list. While he could recognize some of the conditions (bleeding, exhaustion), others such as ‘insomnia’ and ‘allergies’ were unfamiliar. Fortunately, the list appeared to be arranged so that sickness went in the ‘yes’ column and health went in the ‘no’ column. He filled out ‘no’s’ all the way down. The doctor looked at the filled out list and commented,  
“Well, you’re healthy.” _Perhaps I should have filled in some ‘no’s,’_ Skywarp worried. “We’ll just do a few tests now…” the doctor said, and Skywarp nervously endured being poked, squeezed, touched with various cold instruments, hit in the knees with a hammer, blinded by bright lights shone in his optics, being made to hold a plastic tube under his tongue, and finally, worst of all, having a syringe inserted deep into his arm which was used to suck up great draughts of his vital fluids. Humans were utterly creepy organisms, he realized, with their soft, squishy flesh and unorganized mess of internal structures. Sickening! There was no telling what could go wrong with one of them, and no way to fix it… By the time the examination was over, he felt more vulnerable than ever, and desperately wished for Thundercracker’s company. 

“You seem nervous,” the doctor said in the understatement of the millennium.

“I am,” Skywarp admitted, as frightening shivers wracked his body from head to foot. “I think it’s the ray.”

“If so, then it must somehow have a psychological effect, not a physical one. Because aside from anxiety, I can’t find a single thing wrong with you. You’re one of the fittest men I’ve seen in awhile.” Skywarp should have found that comforting, but he didn’t. “I’m going to have Dr. Hunter give you a psychological examination too, after he’s done with Mr. Baker,” the doctor continued. “You can just sit on the couch and take a break until he’s done.” The doctor led him out of the room and to the couch where Megatron was already sitting. Skywarp wanted to talk to his leader, but the doctor beckoned and Megatron stood up and followed him out. Scared though he was, Skywarp had to admire Megatron’s collectedness as he watched them heading down the hallway. That was why he was Decepticon leader, of course. As if in contrast, he could hear Starscream’s shrill protests from further down the corridor. Megatron inconspicuously pointed backwards with his finger towards Skywarp and jerked it repeatedly towards the exit door before disappearing out of sight. Skywarp knew he was trying to tell him to do something, but he couldn’t figure out what. Finally, he thought through everything Megatron might want him to do and came up with a few ideas that would be useful to put into action in any case. 

“I’ll be outside a moment,” he said to the neat-looking femme at the desk, and stepped out the transparent doors into the sunlight. The thirty or so other Decepticons were spread out on the lawn, whispering--or in the case of the Insecticons, eating the grass. _Hey, if it works for them…_ he thought. But even they looked up when he stepped out. 

He made his way down to where the nearest ‘cons were sitting and began to detail everything he had been through and the excuses he had made—it was important that their stories match up, after all. Slowly the information made its way across the lawn to the other groups.

“They’re going drain our vital fluids?” Scrapper demanded in a whisper. “What for?”

“He said they were going to run tests on it,” Skywarp shrugged, glancing down at the fuzzy white ball held in place by the skin-colored band-aid on his arm. The presence of the others was calming him down, and he began to see how ridiculous it was to be afraid of a few humans who really didn’t want to cause him pain—or at least, the doctor hadn’t _seemed_ to... 

“Why would they want to choke your arm with a balloon?” Hook puzzled.

“I don’t know,” Skywarp said, unsure of the reason himself. “I just let him do it. But I have go back in soon for a psychological exam. Oh yeah, make up a name for yourself too. They’ll ask.” He got up and went back inside. Starscream was really getting high pitched now.

“What are you doing? That hurts---AAAOOW!” Skywarp winced sympathetically, wondering exactly what they were doing to Starscream at the moment. He hoped he wouldn’t have to endure it, whatever it was. _They didn’t even put him into stasis for it, either…!_ he thought with a shudder. 

Moments later Thundercracker and Dr. Hunter ( _whew, I remembered the name_ , he thought) came marching stoically out into the couch area. Thundercracker shot him expressions of relief and worry that Skywarp easily picked up, then flopped down next to him and stared up at the ceiling wordlessly. 

“You okay?” Skywarp asked. Thundercracker just nodded.

“No! No I refuse!” Starscream shrieked in the background.

“What sort of test is he having?” Skywarp asked Dr. Hunter as the other scribbled on a clipboard.

“Just the standard tests, the same ones you both took. Seems to be a very high-strung fellow.”

“You can say that again,” Thundercracker rolled his eyes in a human mannerism.

“Is it Sky?” Dr. Hunter asked him. Skywarp nodded. “Well, Dr. Kajowski says I’m supposed to talk to you for a bit, so why don’t you follow me?” Skywarp nodded again, and stood up.

“Go tell the others what you said to the doctor,” Skywarp whispered in his friend’s ear, than headed after Dr. Hunter.

“Get away from me! I’m warning you…!” Starscream screeched.

“ROGERS!” He could hear Megatron bellow warningly from somewhere nearby. Starscream’s voice died out.

“So, how do you feel?” Dr. Hunter asked as he opened the door for him into a carpeted room with a lot of wood and various decorations with a plant motif. _Talk about a primitive species,_ Skywarp thought uncomfortably as he settled down in a proferred chair. _How do I feel? I feel like the kidnapee in an alien abduction holo._

“Nervous. Anxious,” he instead repeated what the other doctor had noted.

“When did you start feeling this way?”

“Shortly after I was hit by the ray.”

“And you’ve felt that way ever since?”

“Almost all the time since then.”

“So you don't feel the effect all the time? When don’t you feel it?” The questions kept coming, and Skywarp answered them as best as he could and tried to remember what he had said so that he could brief the others. Gradually Skywarp began to realize that (a.) Dr. Hunter was obviously not a professional interrogator trying to catch him in a lie, and (b.) Dr. Hunter apparently didn’t intend to do any more ‘tests.’ The throbbing in his chest which the other doctor had called his heart beat slowly disappeared.

“Hunter—I think my heart is stopping,” he said worriedly. His heart seemed to grow stronger at the thought.

“What do you mean?”

“My heart beat is going away.” Dr. Hunter laughed.

“That’s good. A heart beat that you can easily feel is a sign of anxiety.”

“Oh.” The rest of the interview was rather inconclusive, and Dr. Hunter allowed him to return to the others, which he did. Dr. Hunter called one of the Constructicons in.

 

“What do you mean, a ‘large percentage have mental health problems?’” Megatron demanded late that afternoon. Dr. Hunter repeated himself.

“How strange,” Starscream said sarcastically. “I thought they _all_ had mental health problems.” 

“There does seem to be a high occurrence of mental illness and speech problems among the group. There’s looseness of association, delusions of grandeur, obsessive compulsive behavior, serious depression, severe anxiety, and partial amnesia among other things. But you’re all in near perfect health, physically. Dr. Wright and I have decided that some of you need to be kept here temporarily.” Dr. Hunter diplomatically neglected to mention that both of the people standing in front of him had been diagnosed with several disorders themselves.

“Do they have a choice?” Megatron asked warily.

“Most of them. A few I’m too concerned about to let go yet. You all have places to stay?” ‘The ground is always free,’ Megatron silently quoted the Cybertronian proverb.

“Yes, of course,” he replied. “Let me know who you need kept, and I’ll inform them.” Dr. Hunter read off a list of names which Megatron didn’t recognize. It was so frustrating, not being able to remember things! “I’ll need the list,” he said, and Dr. Hunter gave it to him. He left the building and stood out on the front steps of the clinic. All optics—no, eyes—fastened on him. “Some of you will be staying here temporarily,” he barked. “Stand up if I call your name.” He began to read off names from the list. One by one the people on the list stood up. He could recognize Dead End by his slump, but none of the others. He could not yet place faces with human names with true identities, much as he tried. It simply wasn’t possible as a human—the images and designations got mixed up. (It didn’t help, of course, that humans names were so nondescript and dull.) He had also noticed that he couldn’t remember many other things he had known before becoming human, for example the telephone number to the base. That was particularly unfortunate, in this case, since if anyone from Cybertron came to check up on them they would be unable to leave a message for the rescuer to find. Dr. Hunter stepped up next to him suddenly and called out,

“Which one of you ate the Helandria? We looked it up and it isn’t poisonous after all!” Dr. Hunter held out a pot with the stubby remains of a plant stalk inside of it.

“You didn’t save any for us, us?” Shrapnel hissed at Kickback.

“I was hungry!” Kickback protested. Megatron suddenly knew what had happened to the plants in the reception area. And what Dr. Hunter had meant when he had said the patients were eating the décor in the psychological examination room. Bombshell ripped up another fistful of grass and inserted it into his mouth. _Revolting_ , Megatron thought as he watched the Insecticon’s lower jaw move disjointedly around. _I should have never invited them to join us; it’s obvious from what I see now that they’ll never fit into the Decepticons!_

The Decepticons who had been deemed mentally unfit trudged reluctantly up to the front doors of the clinic.

“How long will you be keeping them?” Megatron demanded, turning to the nearest doctor.

“Until either the Autobots discover a cure or their families come get them,” the doctor replied.

“W-we don’t want to to to stay here!” one stammered out. He recognized the voice as Mixmaster’s.

“Don’t worry. We’ll make sure all your needs are provided for,” the doctor said in a voice vaguely reminiscent of Ratchet’s.

“Don’t worry,” Megatron ordered the Constructicon. “You shall leave here eventually—one way… _or another_.” He emphasized the words carefully to indicate that he didn’t mean only the ways the doctor had mentioned. 

“Why bother? It’s only going to get worse,” Dead End said, heaving a sigh.

“There are many proven therapies which help with depression,” Dr. Hunter said encouragingly, patting him on the shoulder lightly.

“More ways to fail. More of my worthless, meaningless life to waste on pointless...” As Dead End droned on, Megatron felt like wishing the doctor good luck, but instead he turned to the other Decepticons and pointed down the road.

“Let us depart!” he shouted loudly, and they stood up quickly and began heading in that direction, forming a rough column and marching off down the highway.

“So, what’s the plan, _leader_?” Starscream said from behind him. Fortunately Megatron had found sufficient time to come up with one. 

“We must procure more Water of Transformation,” Megatron said. “Soundwave informs me that the sweat of our human bodies diluted the WOT on our skin and hair in the time we spent in those taxis heading to the Autobot base, thus neutralizing its power. The only available supply of WOT is currently in our base. Therefore we must return to base. We shall do so, after a trip to Cybertron for assistance, via the space bridge.” 

“And how do you expect to accomplish that, exactly? We’ve already lost Ravage, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, Dead End, Mixmaster, and…whoever those others were.” Starscream ticked off Decepticons on his fingers. “We have no money, no transportation, and certainly no Autobot defeat. Your plan has failed, Megatron.”

“My mistake, Starscream. I should have known better than to attempt something you supported. But to answer your question, yes, I have a simple method for reaching the space bridge. It is known as walking.”

“And how far away is the space bridge?” Starscream asked, obviously preparing to fire a fresh volley of holes into the plan. It was one of the reasons Megatron appreciated Starscream’s input in his tactical planning sessions, even if it was at times exceptionally irritating.

“Soundwave estimates several thousand clicks.”

“My, what precision!” Starscream said in feigned wonder. “Are we even going the right direction?”

“We are heading in the general direction,” Megatron confirmed. “It should take less than a few weeks’ time to reach the space bridge, especially if alternative transportation can be secured by some means.”

“And what about the Autobots?” Starscream demanded. “They may figure out your little ruse, and then what?”

“Then we’ll deal with it when it comes,” Megatron said.

“Perhaps they’ll attack our defenseless base to find the cure for the ‘ray,’” Starscream suggested, voice tightening.

“Dubious,” Megatron replied. “They will not do so unless they are desperate. And they will have no reason to be desperate when they can find no proof that we are deploying our ‘panic ray’ on the humans.”

“A panic ray,” Starscream laughed derisively and shook his head. “Autobots will believe anything. Even your acting.”

“At least I acted,” Megatron said. “Unlike you.”

“And I suppose you’d have us all polishing Optimus Prime’s weapon like you were?”

“It is better to polish one’s enemy’s weapon for a short while than to polish it forever, wouldn’t you agree, Starscream?”

“If I was leader, we wouldn’t have needed to polish it in the first place!”

 

The column rolled on down the road as evening wore on and it began to get dark. And their human bodies had another surprise in store for them: not only did colors disappear as the sunlight died out, but everything else also went black. And there was no infrared. Or radar.

“My feet—they hurt,” whined Bonecrusher as they stumbled into the agricultural area which sprawled out on both sides of the road for clicks into the distance. Finally, they were stopping. In the darkness, they could faintly discern the other Decepticons tripping around through the tall green stalks, attempting to find a place to recharge.

“My stomach still doesn’t feel good,” Long Haul stated. It had been making rumbling noises earlier, but they had stopped and some of the discomfort had gone away. Now the discomfort was returning, and it was stronger than ever.

“My legs hurt,” Scrapper groaned, sitting down on the soft black dirt between rows.

“I feel weak—low on energy,” Hook moaned.

“I feel everything that you guys do,” Scavenger summed it up. “And my formerly slime-filled face cavity is dry.” There were moans of agreement from the rest of the group.

“Recharge yourselves! We march again tomorrow at dawn!” Megatron shouted over the rustling of the plant stalks in the light wind. There was no enthusiastic response.

“Stupid human optics!” Hook cursed. “We could have kept going if they were more light absorbent.” He began smashing the dirt with a fist to compact it into a proper hard, flat recharge bed.

“I’m just glad for a break,” Long Haul groaned. “I’m so tired I couldn’t even haul a rki’thon.” He too began to pound out a place to recharge. The other Constructicons did likewise.

“I just want out of this body,” Scrapper said. “The sooner the better.” A chorus of agreement rose from the Constructicons and their next door neighbors. “A simple thing like walking a few clicks should not be debilitating!”

After they had finished producing hard, if not very flat, recharge beds, they laid flat on their backs and closed their optics as they had seen humans do when they recharged. Nothing happened.

“I can’t get into recharge!” Bonecrusher said agitatedly.

“Nothing’s happening,” Long Haul agreed. They sat up and stared at the source of each other’s voices in the dark.

“What’s wrong with us?” Scrapper asked in puzzlement. There was a low rumbling noise from the area where Hook had lain down at. “Hook? What is it?” There was no reply. Frightened, Scrapper and Bonecrusher quickly crawled over to Hook and ran their hands over him, trying to feel for problems.

“What’s wrong? Can you speak?” Scrapper demanded. “Choke his arm, Bonecrusher.” Bonecrusher did.

“Huh? Wha?” Hook’s weak voice finally came from the darkness. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.” Scrapper replied worriedly. “You were making these rumbling noises, and wouldn’t talk for a moment. Bonecrusher choked your arm, and it brought you back.”

“The last thing I remember is laying on the ground,” Hook said, fear creeping into his voice.

“Do you think we need fuel that badly?” Scavenger said anxiously.

“Humans rumble during their unconscious recharge cycle,” a monotone voice came out of the dark that could only be Soundwave. The communicator continued loudly and steadily to the Decepticons as a whole, “Lay silently on the ground with shut eyes. Recharge will eventually commence.” Relieved, the remaining Constructicons lay back down and shut their eyes. Recharge did eventually commence.

 

BOOOM!

“We’re being fired upon!” someone shouted, and if the thunder didn’t wake everyone up, that person certainly did. Long Haul’s eyelids shot up. He could see the stalks waving wildly above him as lightning flickered through the dark clouds overhead, then the illumination disappeared and left them in pitch darkness again. The base and Optimus Prime were gone!

“It is only lightning and thunder, thunder,” Shrapnel said in an irritated voice from somewhere off to the side.

“Why were you just standing there? They were trying to step on me!” Long Haul blurted out in a quavery voice.

“What?” Scrapper demanded from somewhere to his left in the darkness.

“What do mean ‘what’?!” Long Haul demanded into the darkness. “The Autobots!”

“There aren’t any Autobots around here!” Hook said in confusion from somewhere to his front.

“Then we were in an alternate reality or something! You were just there! Don't you remember?!” Long Haul said in a squeaky voice.

“No, I don’t remember any alternate dimension,” Hook replied, sounding perplexed.

“You were all there, even Mixmaster. The Autobots were like Devastator, and we were all cassettes. They were chasing us around and around the base, trying to step on us!” Long Haul was almost hysterical.

“Devastator wouldn’t fit in the base,” Scrapper said, trying to be logical, though confused.

“Somehow he did,” Long Haul cried. “Optimus Prime stepped on Mixmaster and turned him into… pink goo.”

“I thought we were cassettes,” Hook said.

“It’s like we were cassettes and human at the same time. I ran and ran, but they kept on following me. We tried to form Devastator but we couldn’t and then you all disappeared and Optimus Prime was chasing me…” Long Haul babbled on.

“I don’t know what it was, but it has disappeared,” Hook said, putting an arm around the back of Long Haul’s neck and yanking him close. Then he remembered that he had to use less than his full strength on the others when they were human. “Sorry,” he apologized.

“None of you remember it?” Long Haul asked pitifully.

“What’s wrong?” Bonecrusher’s voice came from somewhere off to the side. They could hear rustling as he broke through the plant row and crawled up to them.

“Long Haul says he was in this alternate dimension or something a moment ago,” Scrapper said. “The Autobots were trying to squish him and us, although I don’t remember any of it.”

“That wasn’t any alternate dimension,” Bonecrusher announced. “That was a human virtual reality experience. They have them during recharge.”

“It was?” Long Haul asked, his voice losing some of its fear.

“Soundwave told me. He knows all about human sleeping habits from that dumb Dance-A-Tron project.”

“That’s stupid!” Long Haul spat in an angry response. “Why on Cybertron would humans need virtual reality while they’re _unconscious?!_ ” They could see Bonecrusher shrug in a flash of lightning. Long Haul looked relieved, if angry. 

“I don’t know. I can ask Soundwave,” Bonecrusher offered.

“Don’t bother,” Hook said. “Come over here and huddle up with us so that you can prevent heat radiation.” Bonecrusher crawled over and they arranged themselves into a sort of pitiful gestalt to minimize heat transmission while maintaining relative comfort. The wind, though blocked effectively by the rows of plants, was still draining their body temperature below its required parameters.

“You are cold,” Scavenger observed, feeling the internal support structures below the flesh on Bonecrusher’s hands. It was reassuring to know that there was at least something hard under there, instead of, for instance, the complete squishing softness of the human tongue.

“It warms up again if you get it out of contact with the colder air,” Bonecrusher explained.

“My ears are cold,” Hook complained.

“Has anyone figured out a way to adjust heat flow to the different parts of the body requiring it?” Scrapper inquired.

“No,” Bonecrusher replied. “But I saw someone putting their hands on their ears.” Hook tried it.

“Now I can’t hear as well,” he said in dissatisfaction.

“I just felt a drop of liquid,” Scavenger said suddenly.

“We don’t need any liquid cooling,” Scrapper said in an irritated voice.

“There’s another one,” Bonecrusher stated.

“Wonderful. Water,” Hook moaned. Perhaps it was some old program left over from before Cybertronians were made of rust-proof materials, or perhaps it was the acid rain produced on Cybertron, or perhaps it was the location of their base, but in any case most of the Decepticons had an intense distaste for water. They began to hear a multitude of light ‘pah’ ‘pah’ ‘pah’ noises, the sound recognizable as that of raindrops falling on leaves. The volume of the noise rose steadily and they could feel cool drops of rain splashing upon their exposed skin.

“Wipe it off on your clothing,” Scavenger suggested. That didn’t work for long. The rain came down, relentless, and not only soaked their clothes, but their hair as well.

“This wet rag attached to my head is so disgusting,” Long Haul said, shaking his sodden hair and shivering as they all were now, still crouched together in their heat conservation mode. Shaking was supposed to be Breakdown’s thing, but their bodies did it involuntarily nevertheless. Anyway, Breakdown had been left back at the clinic with Mixmaster. Long Haul hoped that however their chemist was doing at the moment, he was doing better than they were. Of course, it was hard to imagine how he couldn’t be…

 

Mixmaster gently tapped the glass window pane of his room, testing it for strength. Outside, rain gushed down in torrents over the exterior of the transparent surface and lightning slashed down in sporadic bursts. If he was going to escape, there would never be a better time. He knew the window wasn’t shatterproof, but still… He was afraid he might not be strong enough as a flesh creature to do it, and if he tried and failed, he might be discovered, and the attempted escape would probably have consequences... There was a lot you could blame on a panic ray, but he didn’t want to push his luck too far. After all, it was still strained from the terrible experience he had been through during ‘dinner’ with the meatball chunk stuck in his air intake. After the doctors had nearly crushed his midsection to pop the meatball out of his throat, he had known he was going to escape, the very same night if possible. And here it was, a perfect downpour. It would be hard to see or hear him in it when he went out the window. 

Steadying himself against his own nervousness, he quietly cracked open the door to his room and looked down the hallway both ways. It was quiet and deserted. He looked up at the chronometer on the wall. Both hands were almost touching the two, which was when the others had agreed to make a distraction to keep the doctors from discovering his escape. Dead End hadn’t wanted to escape, and the other Stunticons hadn’t wanted to leave him. And since Dirge pessimistically didn’t think that just the two of them would stand a good chance of making a clean get away either, Mixmaster was the only one attempting to flee tonight.

The third, fast hand of the chronometer jerked slowly around in a circle and touched the two. Wavering for a moment but then moving swiftly, Mixmaster picked up the small metal shelf set from where he had unbolted it, and using all of his strength just as he had practiced, he heaved it at the window. There was a horrendous crashing noise and shards of glass splattered around like chips of rock flying from a blow of Devastator’s fist. Mixmaster quickly used the chair he had put next to the window to break out the rest of the intact glass, then put the chair down on the floor again and climbed onto it and from there out onto the window sill, glass crunching and sliding away under his shoes. He jumped off and landed on the grass, then tripped on the shelf set laying on the ground and stumbled forward. Managing to catch himself with his hands, he felt a sudden pain biting into them and muffled a cry of pain. The glass shards poking up from the grass had ripped through his delicate human skin, and the vital fluid inside them was beginning to drain out of his hands. Biting back the pain behind clenched teeth, he slowly turned himself over on his side and sat up, holding his hands in the air as they throbbed in furious agony. Then lights came on in the second story of the building, and he knew he had to move quickly. He shook the glass off of—and hopefully out of—his hands and ran, momentarily glad for the temporary illumination from upper windows. A second later he had made it into the protecting darkness and kept going, tripping, falling, and sprawling painfully in the dark, but following the direction he had seen the other Decepticons head off in earlier. The blackness enveloped him completely, and although he could hear shouts and other noises from the clinic behind him, he doubted they would be able to catch him. The sounds were already fading into the background noise of rain hitting the ground. He only hoped that the Stunticons were making a good distraction and that his pursuers hadn't seen what direction he had fled in.

In total blackness, the road was the only guide he had to follow. Sight and sound were meaningless, and so he sought out the edge of the pavement as a guide and trailed one hand along it as he hurried along in a crouch. His body quickly grew tired of this and his hands were pulsing and dripping blood which might be used to track him, so he paused, took off his shoes by touch, and pulled off the curious wrappings that humans wore on their feet. Unfortunately because of the darkness he wasn’t able to figure out how to retie the laces of his shoes once he had untied them, so he simply tied a few of his favorite construction knots in them instead. Those, at least, he could tie in the dark, despite the pain in his hands. Then he put the foot wrappings over his hands to keep the blood from dripping off of them and scuffled along, feeling the edge of the road out with his foot. He had to put as much distance as possible between himself and the clinic before morning came.

Time was meaningless in the night. Several times he heard the roar of a motor and flung himself into the ditch, lying there until a car rushed by, its headlights blindingly bright in the darkness. He would wait tensely for the sound of its engine to disappear before he clambered up on the road again and resumed his course. Step by tired step, an eternity passed, and then Mixmaster picked up a peculiar noise on the wind. He stopped and strained to listen. It sounded like an all-too-familiar voice, but he waited longer, not willing to give up his position until he was certain. The voice came and went, rising and falling with the shifting wind. It was time to move closer.

Slowly and softly, he crept closer, staying hunched down close to the ground. The voice died out as he drew nearer, and he could only hear a few muttered words. He paused again to listen. For a long time, there was silence. Then, finally, he was able to make out,

“— _I_ was leading, Megatron—” He paused to hear no more. _That_ was unmistakable. A grin split his face as he stood up and called,

“Hey! I-I-I-I’m here here here!” There was dead silence from the darkness.

“Mixmaster?” He heard Bonecrusher and Megatron call out simultaneously.

“It’s m-me!” he yelled, feeling towards them with his foot; the ground slanted downwards from the road surface, and he didn't want to trip.

“How wonderful. He’s come to join us in our misery.” He heard Starscream’s voice say in loud sarcasm.

“Over here!” Scrapper called gladly. Mixmaster moved faster, and made his way carefully through a fast, though not deep, stream which was running along the side of the road. Lightning flashed behind him and he caught a momentary glimpse of the path ahead. He darted forward hastily to take advantage of the temporary bluish light.

“This way!” Scavenger yelled. He felt his way in that direction, now moving through soft, muddy, dirt that stuck to the bottoms of his shoes. Eagerfully he hurried along as best as he could, not slowing until he tripped over something and fell forward.

“Hey!” someone who sounded like Vortex grumbled irritably from nearby. Pain shot through his hands even though he caught himself mostly on his wrists, and he was careful as he stood up not to touch the foot wrappings to the ground. More cautiously, he felt his way to the rest of the Constructicons.

They were almost as cold and wet as he was, but he could imagine the smiles on their faces--though it was too dark to see them. Hands reached out and welcomed him into a huddle, feeling over his wet hair and face.

“We were just saying how warm and dry you must be at the moment,” Scapper said amusedly.

“But it seems you weren’t any better than us,” Hook finished. Someone’s hands touched his, and Mixmaster jerked them away quickly.

“I h-hurt my my hands,” he explained. The foot wrappings were soaking wet and uncomfortable, so he slowly and carefully slipped them off and set them over to the side. He felt like he still had glass splinters embedded inside the pinkish flesh of his hands, and movement made the pain flare up.

“Let me feel,” Scrapper said, touching his shoulder and tracing it down his arm to find his hand. The other Constructicon gently ran his fingers over the surfaces of his palm and fingers, feeling around the wounds. Mixmaster endured it in silence. It was completely different having his teammate examine him and inflict pain upon him than it was to have a strange human doing the same thing, as the doctor had done in the clinic. “Let me feel your hand, Hook,” Scrapper asked, and Mixmaster assumed from the ‘hmming’ noises Scrapper made that he was comparing their hands to find out what an intact hand was supposed to feel like. “How did this happen?” Scrapper asked, picking at a loose flap of skin lightly. 

“I I was escaping from the clinic. I b-b-broke a window and fell in-into the glass.”

“There are small pieces of something in your cuts. I can’t feel anything like them in Hook’s hand.”

“Gl-glass,” Mixmaster agreed.

“I can’t get all of it out in the darkness. You’ll have to wait until morning,” Scrapper said in a displeased voice, nevertheless pulling out one of the larger pieces.

“If he escaped, someone will try to find him,” Hook warned.

“We had best tell Megatron,” Scrapper agreed. There was silence. After a short while, Scavenger finally volunteered,

“I’ll go get him.” He got up to feel his way toward the sounds of Megatron and Starscream keeping themselves warm by engaging in a heated argument.

 

Upon understanding the situation, Megatron immediately got his Decepticons to their feet and set them marching at top speed directly away from the road. Although it was completely dark out (with the exception of the occasional lightning flashes), the rows of plants were sufficiently straight so that in a single file line, with one hand on the back of the person in front of them, they were able to make decent speed. It would be necessary to put the greatest distance possible between themselves and the clinic before dawn came and the storm ceased.

It would have been preferable if Mixmaster had stayed at the clinic, of course, but Megatron was nonetheless secretly pleased with how well the chemist had performed. Covering the same amount of ground as the main force had, in the dark, with injuries, was a deed that he felt sure would prove to be a valuable source of encouragement for his warriors, demonstrating as it did that they could survive and triumph even in weak human bodies. They would be needing every bit of strength, he knew, for the ordeal that lay ahead.

Through casual chats with the receptionist at the clinic, he and Soundwave had managed to piece together their general location and a vague direction for the space bridge, but they were in desperate need of maps of the route and information relating to flesh creature survival. Soundwave had noted that the easiest way to procure this knowledge was to search for it on the planetary information network. Now all they had to do was find a computer to access the net through.

Then there was the problem of refueling. On Cybertron, as the cynical saying went, “A warrior fights for his friend, his fuel gauge, and his cause.” Unfortunately, no one but the Insecticons had yet figured out how to intake fuel. It was easy enough, if revolting, to place vegetation into one’s mouth and grind it into pulp between one’s teeth, but after that the task became substantially more difficult. The Insecticons said to push the pulp to the back of the throat and constrict the muscles there, but the other Decepticons had tried many combinations of muscle constriction and had discovered nothing but how to cause fits of violent coughing and blockage of the air intake. And after hearing Mixmaster’s story about the doctor’s reaction to his fit at the clinic--related to him in pieces during the short breaks they took while others scouted out the terrain ahead--Megatron had called the ongoing experiments with solid fuel intake to an end, forcing the Decepticons attempting to intake large chunks of fuel as one block to chew the chunk up into mush before they tried to intake it. It was disgusting to think about and worse to actually do, but it seemed regretfully necessary for survival. 

Megatron’s own body was growing weak from lack of fuel, and his stomach felt uncomfortable. In addition, his mouth had lost its coating of moisture. Though swishing puddle water around in it made it feel better temporarily, he felt an odd desire to intake the liquid instead of just spitting it out again. Unfortunately, he simply couldn’t figure out how. Inhaling deeply was the only sensible way he could think of to intake water, but as Rumble and several others had found out after attempting it, that too produced only a fit of hacking and coughing. Fortunately the fits did not appear to have any lasting effects, although those who experienced them reported temporary pain in the neck region and sometimes felt like there was more they needed to hack up but couldn’t get out.

What worried him the most, however, was the cloudiness that had settled over his mind since becoming a human. It had only grown worse since they had left the base. The distractions of human physiology, the breathing, heart throbbing, heat, cold, hunger, thirst—all of them competed for the attention of his no longer icy clear mind. He found himself only able to take into account a few factors at a time, and every mathematical equation became a such a torturous exercise of forgetting and recalculating that he simply asked Soundwave to do them for him. The communications officer was still able to perform mathematical tasks quickly, a situation which was probably attributable to the fact that Soundwave was frequently called upon to carry out complicated calculations in the course of his duties. It seemed like the more familiar one was with a particular skill or body of knowledge, the better they could use it as a human. The Decepticons of the main force, who used their underwater base passcode for everyday entry and exit from the base, could recall it easily. The Insecticons, who practically never used it but had still known it, could not recall it at all. Oddly, Megatron could remember most of his personal experiences easily, as could the others. Only the fine details of the memories were difficult to retrieve, such as the old combination to the Autobot computer which he and a team had once broken into for espionage purposes. The overall effect was to make him feel as though he was trapped in a poor quality processor with broken memory, logic, and multitasking circuits. This was the main thing that concerned him about their predicament, not the lack of fuel, the distance they had to travel, or their new status as fugitives.

They moved onwards in silence. No one was allowed to talk unless they had permission or it was absolutely necessary, and he had forbidden the Insecticons from snacking on the way on the off chance that the trail of gnawed vegetation might be used to follow them. Occasionally someone would trip on something or slip in the mud with a splattering sound and some mumbled curses, but otherwise Megatron was satisfied that the sound of their movement was disguised below the noise level of the rain and the rustling of the plant stalks. He had been trying to gauge their progress by stride lengths, and it seemed they were making fair time. A pursuer attempting to follow them would have to cover a significant distance to catch up. Of course, that would be a moot point if they hadn’t found cover by the time the storm lifted, as airplanes would be able to spot them instantly in the fields. 

He could hear a whisper traveling down the line towards him: Stop. The column slowly backed up and he could hear splats as several warriors slipped and fell in the mud. Not that it mattered--they were already soaked down through their outer protective layers of clothing, and a little mud couldn’t do any harm except to further camouflage. Megatron waited for the column to start moving again, and objectively gauged his condition. He was freezing cold from the pouring rain and chilling wind, and he had to admit that a single day of walking had left him nearly exhausted. He wanted to stop and rest, but they could do that after they had found proper concealment. Disturbingly, their bodies were being wracked by tremors without their mental guidance. The shaking didn’t seem to impede movement significantly, so they forged on in spite of it. What worried him was that his own shaking was steadily getting worse.

Another whisper ran down the line: the field had come to an end. Removing his hand from the back of the person in front of him (he didn’t know who it was because of his poor human memory and nonfunctional optical systems) he felt his way up to the front. Indeed, the vegetation had changed from the regular lines of crops to something else, something thicker and more unevenly grown that promised far better concealment. What an excellent stroke of luck!

“Keep going. We must continue as far as possible before the storm ends,” he whispered to Onslaught, slipping into line behind him.

"Acknowledged," the other responded. They reformed the line and continued at a feeble pace through the new plants, now fighting branches and bushes and tripping over invisible debris. It seemed only a short while later that the lightning and thunder began to die out. Megatron noticed that his own body quivering was becoming less extreme and that the wind had died.

The rain kept pouring even after dawn arrived, revealing dripping clumps of brush overshadowed by the dark, spreading branches of thick-limbed trees. Slowly, the scenery became a dark blue-gray color, followed by other shades as his eyes began to translate the light waves into the scenery’s true coloration. It seemed they had made it some distance into a forest. He didn’t know where they were, or what direction the space bridge was in anymore, but to the best of his knowledge the flesh creatures shouldn’t be able to find them for awhile. At least the forest offered some protection from the rain, which thankfully was no longer pouring down as hard as it had been initially. Unfortunately, the diminished rainfall would also make it easier to smell them, something the Autobot Hound was quite capable of doing. Megatron waited until they passed a slight mound in the terrain, then decided to call a temporary stop to reenergize their legs. It seemed that after momentary stops, human appendages grew stronger, or at least they felt better. Most of the warriors dropped to the ground instantly, exhausted.

“Don’t just sit there!” Starscream chastised them in quiet exasperation, “Form a proper perimeter before resting!” Wearily they moved into a correctly formed rectangular perimeter pattern. Megatron was glad to see that someone else at least remembered basic stealth patrol techniques. He struggled against his cloudy mind to remember what to do next, stumbling through his memory banks… _What am I trying to remember again?_ Finally the idea came, and he remembered what he was trying to remember in the first place.   
“Rally point that direction, 500 stride lengths,” Megatron said quietly. He pointed deeper into the forest. The rally point was the area they would regroup at if they were discovered and scattered during the break. The others nodded. “Head count. One,” he whispered. 

“Two,” Starscream replied in a low voice.

“Three,” Soundwave stated.

“Four,” Rumble continued. The other Decepticons followed suit, counting off one by one until all were enumerated. At least no one had been lost during their stumblings in the dark. Megatron looked them over and picked out the ones who seemed to have the most energy to stand guard while they rested. Next, he crawled over to the Insecticons, grabbing Skywarp and Thundercracker on the way over, and plopped them down next to the leaf-munching humans.

“Teach them--” he paused momentarily, thinking about how absurd the order sounded, “--how to eat.” Thundercracker and Skywarp exchanged a ‘why us?’ glance and sat down next to the Insecticons to observe. Megatron crawled back over to where Soundwave and Starscream were sitting, or rather lying, on the soaked ground with their eyes sealed shut. Convulsions of shuddering ran through their bodies like electrical shocks stimulating a broken servo. Rumble and Frenzy, both rather small in comparison to the other humans, were hugging Soundwave miserably, quaking hard. He knew that they and Mixmaster had found it the hardest to keep up, but they had borne their weakness in good Decepticon style. He glanced over at Mixmaster and found Scrapper and Hook attempting to extract the glass particles from the lacerations on the chemist’s hands. One warrior rendered almost useless for combat from mere glass!

He lay back heavily next to Starscream and Soundwave with a squelch of water, letting his arms and legs go limp as they wanted to. Starscream apparently either didn’t want to break the silence or was too tired to do so, so they lay on the sodden forest material without speaking, rain water drizzling into their closed eyes from above. At last, he could let his mind go blank for a few moments. A few moments became minutes, and minutes blurred together as the water fell from above on his exposed face. Rest…  _I should be doing something,_ he thought fuzzily, but he couldn’t think of what. _Yes, recharge…_

 

The Insecticons were tough teachers, but Thundercracker was just tough. For the fifth time he convulsed in a choking, coughing fit that anyone within a click could probably hear.  _Why,_ he wondered to himself,  _are we bothering to be quiet when I’m practically popping off sonic booms here trying to kill myself by refueling?_ Meanwhile the Insecticons stuffed everything within arm’s reach into their industrious little maws, giving thumbs up or thumbs down to indicate whether they thought the taste was good or bad. 

“Just do the thing you do when you contract the muscles of your neck.” Kickback explained in a whisper to Skywarp as Thundercracker gasped for air. The former grasshopper ran a wet, dirty finger down the bumpy frontal neck ridge that they all had. “We do it automatically when our neck interior gets dry.”

“That?” Skywarp asked, confused. “That’s the contraction of neck muscles you meant?”

“I… *pant* …thought that you couldn’t… *pant, coughcough* …use those muscles for intaking fuel.” Thundercracker managed to get out.

“That’s the _only_ way to do it, wingwit,” Bombshell scoffed. “Instead of carrying mouth slime, it carries food.” Shrapnel nodded sagely, picking more moss and stuffing it into his mouth. Skywarp picked some too and inserted it into his mouth cavity, chewing awhile. Thundercracker felt sick watching it. 

“Here goes,” Skywarp muttered to him. Thundercracker gave him the ‘those who are about to die we salute you’ salute and sat back expectantly to offer the ‘Heimlich maneuver’ Mixmaster had described, if necessary. He had no idea how it was supposed to work, other than that it cleared the air intakes somehow. Human physiology was a complete mystery to him, and he had no hopes of understanding it at this rate.

To his pleased surprise, Skywarp did not break out in explosive hacking. The other Seeker paused a second, then made a ‘ulyeah’ noise, spitting the watery plant ooze out on the ground.

“I think I’m getting somewhere,” Skywarp said, looking up. “Except my muscles seem to want to push the food up instead of down.”

“That happened to me at first, first,” Shrapnel said, plucking up another small plant from the ground to eat. "But once you get past that you can eat anything, anything!"

“Push it further back with your tongue. Chew it into smaller parts,” Kickback advised. Shrapnel nodded, stripping a handful of leaves off of a short tree and crunching them up while Skywarp chewed up more material. Thundercracker plucked a few leaves off the same tree and put them into his mouth, then proceeded to crush them into a cold liquid mush. It was too bad they couldn’t skip the chewing step (he winced at the thought of the bits of plant stuck between his teeth), but after what had happened to Mixmaster, well…

The leaves ‘tasted’ interesting, as the humans said, and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked the ‘flavor.’ But it wasn’t the worst thing he had tried so far, so he carefully followed the Insecticons’ instructions on how to fuel. 1. Assemble blob of pulp into wad on center of tongue. Check. 2. Move blob towards the back of the mouth cavity. Check. 3. Hack food back up. 4. Reinsert food and repeat process until death by intake blockage.  _Okay, this time let’s try to skip 3 and 4_ , he thought, darkly amused in spite of himself. He pushed the food tentatively to the back of his mouth cavity and simultaneously contracted the muscles in his neck like he was trying to remoisturize his neck interior. The food disappeared, and he could feel something running down the inside of his neck. Quickly his hand flew to his neck ridge, which he could feel moving. No fit of choking ensued. Cautiously he took a breath, checking to see if his intake was blocked. Everything was fine, except for the slight soreness that the earlier coughing fits had caused. 

“There. There. *munch, slurp* Like that, that,” Shrapnel said, his mouth now full of moss.

“It worked?” Skywarp asked in surprise. Thundercracker nodded, surprised himself. “Show me how,” Skywarp demanded. Thundercracker did. A few of the other Decepticons who had been listening in and laughing at them now crawled over wanting to learn how, and from that point on it was fair weather flying. Leaving Skywarp to teach, Thundercracker moved over to where Megatron, Starscream and Soundwave (with cassette attachments)--the three ranking officers of the force--were all lying in apparent recharge. The sight wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“Megatron,” he whispered. Megatron didn’t respond, so rather than raising his voice Thundercracker reached out and shook him by the arm, surprised at how cold his wet skin was. There was still no response. Thundercracker didn’t really want to shake his leader any harder than that since Megatron had proven snap reflexes and would probably disfigure him if he crossed them, so he backed away slightly and then proceeded to choke his arm instead, which seemed to be a good way to wake people up (although he wasn’t sure why). Still no response. Thundercracker bent down and hissed directly into the audio receptor cup, “Megatron!” Nothing. Finally, he grabbed Megatron’s shoulder and shook it vigorously. Finally Megatron stirred, eyes slowly slitting open. _Okay, so those stories about his reflexes are exaggerated_ , Thundercracker thought with a mental eye roll. 

"We've figured out how to refuel," he reported in a whisper. For a moment Megatron just stared at him, then laboriously sat up. "Soundwave, Starscream, activate yourselves," he hissed at the two sleeping Decepticons at his side. Soundwave opened his eyes and silently sat up. Starscream just mumbled something and continued to lie there.

"Wake up," Thundercracker whispered, poking his wingleader unmercifully in the arm.

"Leave me alone or I'll have you recycled and made into soda cans," Starscream hissed irritably, refusing to move.

"Get up, Starscream," Megatron ordered shortly. "We're refueling." The mention of fuel made Starscream open his eyes. Thundercracker plucked some moss and threw it on his chest. Starscream picked it up with a shaking hand.

“I didn’t think humans ate this,” he said warily.

“The Insecticons are eating it. They’re fine,” Thundercracker said flatly.

“How unfortunate. Now explain how to refuel from this.” Starscream ordered brusquely, inserting the moss into his mouth and beginning to chew with obvious distaste. Thundercracker plucked some vegetation up for Megatron, Soundwave, and the cassettes. As they began to chew, he explained,

“First, you grind it into a fairly liquid state. Then, you center it on your tongue and push it to the back of your mouth cavity. Then, you do that thing you automatically do from time to time to remoisten your inner neck, while pushing the pulp to the back. It’ll take a few tries to get.” It did take a few tries to get, but after much choking, gasping, and hacking each Decepticon eventually gagged down some vegetation. Skywarp, now sitting next to them and joining Thundercracker in his grazing, held up a plant that he had touched earlier and gave the Cybertronian hand sign for bad repeatedly, then tossed the plant away and wiped his fingers off where they had touched it. Thundercracker wondered if they were eating anything poisonous without knowing it. He also wondered if they were eating anything containing energy at all, since he still felt as tired now as he had before he had eaten.

Unfortunately, the food still hadn’t kicked in by the time the stop was over, and wearily he concluded that he still felt just as tired as before. Heedless of their suffering, Megatron snapped everyone into patrol formation and set them marching again. Thundercracker had been put on point, while Skywarp was taking slack position behind him. The others followed some distance behind. Thundercracker gazed carefully around for threats, while behind him Skywarp did likewise, looking left when he looked right. The rain slowly died to a sprinkle and then ceased, and Thundercracker decided that the sun would probably come out soon. And so it proved; the clouds pulled back and cheering rays of sunlight shot down through the tree branches, highlighting the shining water droplets hanging from every twig, leaf, and blade of grass. Thundercracker couldn't help but feel amazement at how much more _detailed_ everything looked now that he was shrunk down to the size of a human. Grass which had seemed like a flat mat to him as a robot was now composed of individual strands which came up to his ankles. Leaves which he had perceived as a fuzzy, blobby mass were now large separate, detailed entities with veins and insect gnawings and brown tips. 

"Honey, I shrunk the Transformers," Skywarp mumbled behind him. Deciding it was just another obscure human cultural reference, Thundercracker didn't bother to ask his wingmate what he was talking about.

By the time the sun had reached the top of the sky, signaling midday, the forest had dried out. Reflector had taken point, Soundwave was on slack, and Thundercracker was trudging along in the rear guard wearily attempting to maintain security. There had been only one plane and they had easily heard its engines and rushed under the nearest trees for concealment. It had passed so high overhead that he didn’t think it could have spotted them unless it had heat sensors.

As he had been doing since he became human, Thundercracker absently squished his fingers, feeling the odd give of the flesh.  _Hmmm... Perhaps we ought to cover our skin with dirt like we did with our clothes._ Unlike some of the other tannish to black colored Decepticons, his whitish peach skin didn’t blend in very well with the woodland colors. He wished he had figured on that when he had chosen a body, but it was too late now. A stick cracked loudly under his foot.  _For the last time Thundercracker! Mind on the job!!!_ he yelled mentally, coming back to reality again. Carefully he scanned the trees and brush around them for threats, and the ground for any dropped articles which would give an extra clue about their presence to the enemy. Nothing, good.  _Oh, my legs are sore,_ he groaned inside. Hopefully there would be a break soon, because his body was exhausted and his mind felt… Well, maybe the word for it was numb.  _Kind of like being on really low energy,_ he mused.  _Except I just ate a few hours ago. I wonder if that food is ever going to kick in._ He tripped over a stump hidden under the moss and fell with a squelch onto the wet leaves. Biting back a cry of surprise, he got up, legs shaking like they were connected by buggy relays, and gave the stump a vicious kick. The stump kicked back. Pain shot up his foot and he involuntarily hissed a curse. That had hurt! He glared at the smugly grinning stump for a moment, then finally turned away in disgust, following the others. He  _hated_ being a human! What a dumb plan! 

He paused for a moment to scan the rear. Nothing there, as usual. Good. At that moment he heard the crunching of the main party cease and looked back towards the front. They had stopped. Soundwave was picking his way through the low forest bushes to talk to Megatron. He waited expectantly to catch any hand signals if Megatron gave them. Soundwave and Megatron conferred quietly for a few moments, then Megatron pulled aside Rumble and Frenzy and pointed away to the left and right, whispering instructions. The two nodded and snuck off in opposite directions. Megatron motioned to the main group to drop, and instantly the Decepticons sunk to a crouch. Thundercracker winced as the Stunticons dropped heavily on their knees, making the forest litter underfoot crackle loudly. Sneaking around on foot obviously wasn’t part of their programming. One of the Combaticons nearby pointed at their knees and made the gesture for ‘stupid and careless.’ One of the Stunticons gave an ‘oops’ gesture in return. They waited there in an aching crouch for a long time, then Thundercracker heard the two cassettes coming back, their approach signaled by the occasional crunch or by the sound of their clothes brushing on twigs and bushes. 

The cassettes didn’t return all the way, but made signs to Megatron from a distance. Thundercracker couldn’t see them from his position, but Megatron watched for a moment, then turned back to the main force and gave them the signal to advance and group together.  _Maybe it’s a break_ , Thundercracker thought hopefully, although it looked more like Megatron was having the cassettes scout out something that they were going to cross. 

It turned out the latter suspicion was correct. There was a two lane gravel road ahead. After careful positioning of Rumble, Frenzy, and Reflector, Megatron motioned them forward and they dashed across into the woods on the other side. Quickly they reformed the patrol configuration and put distance between them and the road. Thundercracker carefully kept his audio sensors on full alert to the rear, glancing back and forth any sign that they had been seen. It was only when they were far out of sight of the road that his mind began to wander, rambling confusedly through the mental mist of his foggy brain.

_Well, isn't this nice. Here I am a flyer, walking through woods. It isn’t natural,_ he grumbled silently.  _It's going to take days to cross as a human what I could have crossed in seconds as myself. I'm cold. And wet. And miserable! And now we're stuck as humans for who knows how long, we don't even know where the spacebridge is, and we're lost to boot. We'll probably get eaten by wolves._ Someone had dropped a band-aid on the ground. Picking it up, he dragged his mind back to the forest again and realized he hadn't been paying attention.  _Time to switch out,_ he thought, annoyed at himself. 

Fortunately, it was on their very next break that Megatron called a halt. There was a head count, then Megatron set up the perimeter and selected sentries. Soundwave went around and divided them up into shifts, and Thundercracker took it as a sign that this was going to be a longer break. He certainly needed it. He crawled over to Skywarp’s position and asked quietly,

“What shift?”

“One.”

“Ditto.” They exchanged a pleased smile and Thundercracker pointed over at a dry spot under a tree within the perimeter. They both made their way laboriously to the spot, appendages reluctant and sore, and finally flopped down flat on their backs in exhaustion. Thundercracker closed his eyes and waited for recharge to commence. It wasn’t long in coming.

 

“After we determine our location, we will need immediate access… Starscream? Are you listening to me?”

“Huh!” Starscream jerked his head up and snapped open his optics. Megatron was sitting across from him looking at him expectantly. “What were you saying?” he asked, holding his eyelids up with an effort.

“I was saying we’ll need immediate access to a computer,” Megatron said impatiently.

“Right,” Starscream said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. The food wasn’t working. It wasn’t recharging him whatsoever. 

“And?” Megatron prompted edgily.

“And what?”

“And you have no ideas as to where we could find one, I suppose,” Megatron growled in annoyance. Starscream searched his datafiles on human culture, which consisted mainly of Skywarp's favorite TV shows.

“They keep them in their houses,” he finally said.

“Soundwave said that already. But we determined—without your help—that we couldn’t access a house computer. It would be too difficult.”

“Uh-huh,” Starscream nodded, lids dropping as his mind began to go into recharge.

“Starscream!” Megatron hissed at him. His lids snapped up again and he jerked his head up from where it was leaning. “Intake more food.” He ripped up a clump of moss and threw it at Starscream’s legs.

“I just ate,” Starscream snapped. “It isn’t working. Humans don’t eat this type of food because it doesn’t give any energy.”

“Quantity will make up for quality,” Megatron declared irritably. “Now pay attention.” Starscream ripped up a new clump of moss and began to feed it into his mouth cavity, grinding it up between his teeth. He could feel the horrible sound of dirt particles scraping between his teeth rows—a sure recipe for discomfort for Cybertronians, but it apparently didn’t bother humans. Except for him. “If you don’t know of any other place of computer access, then we must ask someone where to find it.”

“Yes,” Starscream agreed. Eating did seem to re-energize him slightly. It was easier to pay attention at least, even if his eyes burned to close. His mind turned from his burning eyes to the idea of talking to a human. Megatron paused, but seeing that he wasn’t going to say anything further, continued.

“It seems likely that any computer access will be in the city, which means that we will be seen by thousands of humans. However, our appearance does not conform to that of the local humans anymore.”

“True,” Starscream said. He swallowed another mashed blob of plant. Disgusting!

“Which means we have to do something to fit in,” Megatron said.

“Yes.”

“And Mixmaster needs further medical attention. Which is impossible to secure without compromising ourselves.”

“That is a problem,” Starscream agreed.

“Would you stop agreeing with me and be productive?” Megatron snapped. A slow grin inserted itself onto Starscream’s face.

“No.”

“Finally,” Megatron snorted. “An intelligent reply.”

“Well…” Starscream paused, trying to think clearly. “To fit in we’ll need water to wash our clothes. And something to straighten hair. I don’t know what to do about Mixmaster. Maybe the planetary information network will explain.” He closed his eyes momentarily.

“Starscream, your shift isn’t until the sun touches that tree.” Starscream jerked up his head again and quickly refilled his mouth cavity with fuel.

“I know,” he said, eyelids creeping shut again. He put up a hand and held one set open with his fingers. “I’m experiencing difficulty controlling my system’s recharge controls.”

“So I see." Then in a nearly inaudible hiss, Megatron whispered, "But for the sake of the warriors, attempt to stay conscious!” Understanding broke through Starscream's daze and he sat up straight.

“Very well. First we’ll… Find a human and ask them where to find water and a hair straightener. No, wait... We’ll use the water and the hair straightener, and  _then_ find the human to ask about the planetary data network.” He trailed off, trying to process further steps in the logical sequence. 

“Then we’ll use the planetary data network to acquire the information we need to choose our next step,” Megatron finished.

“Is your processor as disabled as mine?” Starscream asked quietly.

“Not yet,” Megatron replied in just as low of a tone. “I find it difficult to reason and concentrate, but not impossible.”

“Are the sentries in better condition?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll find out,” Starscream stood up, continuing to chew plant material, and walked off to find them. It was obvious he would not be able to do any tactical planning unless he fulfilled the human recharge need first. Until then, the best thing to do was probably to go around looking confident. Of course, if he got into any conversation he would come across as being dimwitted as a Dinobot ( _my poor processor,_ he thought gloomily), but that shouldn’t happen since they were keeping noise to a minimum. 

Walking seemed to clear his mind somewhat, and he wondered why Megatron wasn’t affected by the lack of recharge.  _Probably because he's been sleeping on the breaks_ , Starscream speculated sourly, half envious and half annoyed. His legs were sore and aching, and he wanted to do nothing but lay on the ground without moving and close his eyes. He passed Skywarp and Thundercracker, both zonked out cold under the cover of a tree. Lucky them. He wished he had been picked for the first shift instead of Soundwave. Pausing, he plucked some leaves off of a bush and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing vigorously. Quantity must make up for quality… Unless the plants he was intaking had zero energy value.  _Or perhaps my body uses more energy processing them than it receives from them_ , he mused. He had no way of knowing except by the results he saw, and so far they weren’t encouraging. At least the food made his stomach feel better. 

He checked on the sentries one by one. They had chosen poor vantage points, so Starscream rearranged them in better ones… Until he came to Ramjet. Ramjet was sleeping, his head lolled back and his mouth open, a line of drool running down his cheek. He was rumbling like Optimus Prime driving at full speed down a straightaway. Starscream was instantly enfuriated, but he couldn’t give voice to his shriek of rage because they were running silent. Instead he crouched quietly next to the other and pondered the best way to teach Ramjet a lesson about staying awake. It probably wasn’t Ramjet’s fault that he was recharging on duty—after all, recharge was somewhat involuntary in humans—but he should have gotten someone else to take his place if it was so bad. Then again, his judgment was no doubt impaired too. Finally deciding on a course of action, he placed one hand loosely over the other's mouth, ready to clap it down hard if the other got any ideas about yelling. Then he carefully composed his vocal unit, and when he felt ready, he leaned over to Ramjet’s ear and whispered in as deep and serious of a voice as he could manage (which wasn’t much),

“Autobots, transform and attack!” Instantly Ramjet jerked up, eyes jumping open, and Starscream slammed his hand down over his mouth before he could say anything. Ramjet looked crazy for a second, then realized what had happened and stared at the ground, face turning red. Starscream whispered sarcastically, “Congratulations, we’re dead.” He paused a moment to let it sink in, although he knew that the other jet knew full well what the consequences would have been. “Find a replacement and send him back here,” he ordered, pointing back to the main camp. Ramjet nodded silently and made his way back to the camp. Starscream knelt where the other had been guarding and tried to stay awake while he waited for the replacement to come. It was becoming painfully clear that both their physical performance and cognitive abilities were linked to their power levels as humans, which were somehow linked to recharge and either not to food or not to the type of food he was intaking. _Soundwave will know; I’ll have to ask him about that when he wakes up._ His lower jaw suddenly yanked open involuntarily and stretched open to its fullest extent. Stunned, he didn’t even think of trying to close it until it had relaxed again. He carefully probed the joint area, wondering what was going wrong with his body now. With burning eyes, involuntary recharge attempts, weakness, legs which were in pain and a clouded mind, he knew he wasn't doing well. _Wonderful plan, leader,_ he thought sarcastically. How could things _possibly_ get any worse? 

Suddenly there was a soft, high pitched whine, and as if summoned a small, gangly creature--an insect, he realized--settled onto his hand.

 

Two days passed before they finally reached a human settlement. Scavenger scratched weakly at the itchy little red bumps covering his skin and wondered how he could possibly still be functioning when his body felt so miserable. The only thing that didn’t feel bad was his hair, both the fluff on top of his head and the new, spiky growths that were protruding from his jaw area like some kind of ghastly fungus. Only Rumble and Frenzy had been lucky enough to avoid the growth, apparently because their bejeweled metal nose rings contained some sort of repellent material.

Having experimentally determined that the energy content of the various woodland plants they were eating was quite low, it had been decided that someone needed to procure supplies. But first, the planetary network must be accessed to determine exactly what supplies were needed for the maintenance and care of human bodies. And so it was that he and several of the other Decepticons were attempting to correct Soundwave’s physical appearance to conform it to human norms. Scavenger had the task of sifting through Soundwave’s hair with a needled tree branch in order to straighten it.

“What are we gonna do about his jaw hair?” Rumble asked, gesturing at Soundwave’s face to Frenzy.

“Aw, lots of humans have that. Leave it,” Frenzy dismissed. “But his shirt... It’s still not good enough.”

“How do these look?” Skywarp called from where he was coming from the puddle they were using to wash stuff in, holding up a pair of shoes. “I tried to wash the mud off, but they’re just not as white as before.”

“You know…” Thundercracker paused, holding up one of the stiff greyish foot wrappings that they had pulled off and let dry. “These are cleaner on the inside than on the outside. What if we turn them and the shirt inside out?”

“Hey! That’s a great idea!” Rumble spouted eagerly. “Soundwave, give me your shirt!”

“Watch the hair,” Hook warned from where he was watching. After several false starts, Soundwave managed to get the shirt off without damaging his almost-straightened hair. Thundercracker took it and beat it savagely on a nearby tree, causing dust and dirt to fly off of it. Then he pulled it inside out and handed it back to Soundwave, who carefully put it back on again. Scavenger returned to his hair straightening.

“Hey, looks great,” Frenzy said cheerily. “You done yet Scavenger?”

“Almost,” Scavenger replied, running the needles through one last section of rough hair. “There. Perfect.” He stepped back to admire his work.

“He looks normal to me,” Skywarp said. “Any of you see anything wrong?”

“He looks fine,” Thundercracker agreed. Soundwave stood up and walked in his deliberate way over to Megatron, who was eating leaves picked from a shrub.

“Normalcy achieved,” he reported.

“Very well. I expect you back here by tomorrow night,” Megatron said shortly. Soundwave turned without acknowledging the order and headed off towards the settlement.

 

Despite his weakened state, Soundwave’s mind was fairly clear and he made good time down the tree-lined road to the settlement. Since he was no longer physically affiliated with the group Mixmaster was in, it was no longer necessary to hide, and he walked freely without regard to stealth.

A few hours later, having passed many scattered houses, he came across a human digging in a box of flowering plants.  _Perhaps she is harvesting them for food_ , he speculated, and paused by the white picket fence to observe for a moment.  _Or are they decorative?_ he mused, noting that she wasn't removing anything from the box. It occurred to him that the human might be able to tell him where he might access a public computer terminal. 

“Excuse me,” he called out. The human looked up from her work and turned to meet his gaze.

“What?” she replied, looking surprised and somewhat disturbed.

“I require access to a computer connected to the internet. Where can one be found?” She paused for a moment, staring at him intensely.

“Try a library.”

“Direction and location?” he queried.

“That way, King Street,” she pointed down the road.

“Thank you,” Soundwave finished the exchange. “Good bye.” She did not reply with the rest of the parting exchange, instead opting to watch him as he turned and walked away.

It took several hours and he had to ask for directions multiple times, but late that night he eventually arrived at King Street. Unfortunately, when he finally found the library, he discovered that the doors were locked. A sign next to them read: “Hours: Monday through Friday, 10 AM-5 PM Saturday: 1 PM-4 PM Sunday: Closed. He considered for a moment. If memory served, it was a Tuesday, so that meant that the library would be open the next day. Luckily there was a sheltered box in front of the main doors, so he sat down on the floor and waited. 

It took a long time for morning to come, but Soundwave’s patience circuits weren’t even warm by dawn. His body did grow cold during the night, but since they had discovered that physical movement generated heat in humans as well as in robots, he kept warm by jumping up and down in place. He thought, or rather worried, about his three missing cassettes. In their animal forms Ravage, Buzzsaw and Laserbeak should have little problem finding food and shelter, but what about predators--or Autobots? They were so tiny in their cat and bird forms that almost anything could be dangerous. Unconsciously, he stretched out his thoughts to them, then realized for the hundredth time that what he was trying to do was impossible as a human. His cassettes might as well be on the other side of the galaxy for how well he could feel their minds—not at all. It was disturbing. He had no way of knowing if they were in trouble...or if they were dead. The thought provided cold comfort as he waited out the long night.

Finally, some time after dawn, a person came and opened the doors for him. He asked where he might find computers connected to the internet, and she pointed him down the aisle marked "F." By now quite good at following directions (even confusing ones describing poor landmarks and without bearings or distances included), he found the computers and proceeded to experiment with how to access the network. Tweny minutes of trial and error later, he brought up the internet. From there, everything was relatively easy.

He researched basic human needs, focusing especially on foods, and found out that their diet had been disproportionately composed of vegetal nourishment. Next he sought out their location and laid out a tentative route to the spacebridge, grimly noting that it was more distant than the receptionist at the clinic had thought it was. Since he had no means of transferring the information from the network to the other Decepticons by computer, as he normally would have done, he attempted to the best of his ability to commit it to his faulty human memory banks. This failed miserably. Then he noticed that the other humans were using little cards to record information on with wooden writing utensils, and imitated the idea. Soon he had filled up about twenty of the cards on both sides. Collecting them and stuffing them into his pocket, he stood up and exited the library. Hopefully he would make it back to base camp before dark.

 

When Soundwave staggered back in later that night, he handed the cards to Rumble and Frenzy, then promptly crawled under a tree, curled up, and went to sleep. The Decepticons made a rough circle around the two cassettes to listen as they read off his findings. Progress was slow due to the fact that Soundwave had used ultracompact squiggledot code, which only Rumble and Frenzy could read, and not very well at that.

“Human nutritional needs:… Uh, hold on. This is written in picture code. Frenzy, do you remember this one?”

“Uh… Yeah,” Frenzy took the card and began, “It’s a triangle, cut into parts by three horizontal lines equal distances apart, vertically speaking. This makes four rows on the triangle. The second row is cut into two equal halves by a bisecting vertical line. The bisecting line continues down until it slices the third row in half as well.”

“Maybe you’d better draw a picture,” Rumble suggested dubiously. Frenzy drew an uninformative picture of a cut up triangle in the air, then handed the cards back to Rumble to read. 

“First quadrant=least important, fats+sweets. Second left quad.=dairy. Second right quad.=meat,” Rumble read off. He continued reading the notes for almost an hour, then traded places with Frenzy when they came to the pictorial map section. Then they had to endure another dull hour of listening to descriptions of maps, routes, and transportation options.

“I didn’t know shelter was a necessity,” Thrust muttered to Ramjet when the presentation was over at last.

“I can’t believe we have to cut these off _every day_ ,” Ramjet replied in a disgusted voice, running his hand with disturbed fascination over the hairs on his chin. 

“Why didn’t you say we needed food other than plants?” Motormaster demanded from the Insecticons.

“Other types of food are harder to find, find,” Shrapnel explained. “You must dig or hunt for them, them.”

"And you're not smart enough to catch anything faster than a mushroom," Bombshell added bluntly.

“Money would greatly facilitate the ease of acquiring supplies,” Megatron mused to Starscream.

“Perhaps the Autobots will give us a loan,” Starscream suggested with sarcastic optimism. Megatron simply looked at Rumble and Frenzy, and looked thoughtful.

 

*Morning.*

Fortunately for Rumble and Frenzy, the jeweled nose rings came right off.

“Swindle,” Megatron said with an air of restrained amusement. “I entrust you with our precious resources. Do not return until you have money in your hands.”

“Right. You can count on me, Megatron,” Swindle said with a servile smile, clutching his hands together in an ingratiating fashion. Megatron placed the rings in his hand and added,

“I expected so.” Swindle quickly turned and headed off in the direction Soundwave had originally come from. Rumble and Frenzy felt out the new holes in their noses.

“Weird…”

“You said it.”

“Too bad Soundwave wouldn’t let us pierce our eyebrows and tongues too.”

“You’re both crazy,” Starscream informed them.

“SSSSHHHH!!!” Kickback suddenly hissed loudly. Immediate silence fell over the group. Kickback stood quietly, seeming to listen. Something was rustling faintly over to the side in the brush. Whatever it was, it sounded too small to be a human. “It’s a creature!” Kickback whispered loudly. “Food! Get it!” Unfreezing, he darted towards into brush. Immediately thirty starving Decepticon warriors leapt to their feet.

The poor creature never really had a chance, but it put up a good fight. Skywarp finally held it up victoriously by its tail. Bombshell and Reflector stared wrathfully at it as they nursed various bitten and clawed parts of their anatomy. The mouse squeaked viciously back at them. Panting, Skywarp asked,

“How do we kill it?”

The reply was unanimous: “ _Squish it!_ ” 

Though they were all vaguely sickened by the result (No, Decepticons really don’t squish humans. Would you want that on your foot?) Kickback nevertheless demonstrated that the remains were edible by gnawing off an unidentifiable appendage and crunching it up in his mouth.

“Do humans really eat these?” Starscream asked doubtfully.

“Oh yes. On Bali they ate them all the time,” Kickback assured him, attempting to chew off a piece of his own. He gave the remainder to Skywarp, who had actually caught the mouse. “In fact,” Kickback continued, “If we can find an old rotten log, I think I know of some other things to eat.”

The rest of the day was a busy one for the Decepticon Earth Force as they overturned logs and ripped apart stumps looking for the juicy goodies crawling around inside. Fortunately, Megatron was no longer concerned with stealth, so they not only dug up tree stumps, but also climbed up into trees after arboreal mammals, chased mice and rabbits, and inflicted several serious injuries upon themselves in the process. Then they discovered the nearby creek had edible, swimming wildlife in it. It was shortly afterward that Megatron decided that stealth was still very, very, very important.

 

*A few days later…*

Nobody was really surprised when Swindle pulled up in a red Ferrari driven by a uniformed chaffeur, the Combaticon himself zonked out in the back seat. The driver, however, seemed rather surprised to see thirty muddy, starving humans running out of the woods towards him, and it took several minutes before Swindle could convince him to turn around and go back. The instant the ferrari lurched to a halt, Onslaught plastered himself against the window and shouted,

“Food! Now!”

“Hold on, hold on,” Swindle said, holding his hands out to placate his impatient commander. “I have to call a taxi to come get you first.” He pulled out a cell phone and hurriedly dialed a number on its keypad. “Hello…” He paused for a second. “Oh, I’m sorry Mr. President, wrong number. … Yeah, I did think about it. It’s a good bet, if you—” Onslaught motioned impatiently. “Uh sorry, I’ve got to go now. I’ll call you back later sir.” He pressed another button, then typed into the keypad again.

“Yes, I have about thirty passengers here on Mosquito Road… Yes… Yes... That's the place. Okay, see you then.” He deactivated the phone and tucked it back into his coat. “They should be here in about twenty minutes.”

 

The taxis were so warm and comfortable that most everyone slept right through the ride to the house. Except the Stunticons.

“Run ‘im down!”

“Pass, pass!”

“You can make the light! Go for it!”

“Can’t this thing go any faster?”

“Floor it—you want to, I can see it in your eyes…”

“You call this fast?”

“See if you can jump that exit ramp.”

“Don’t let a little road barrier stop you from taking that shortcut.”

“What do those sirens mean?” Finally the taxi driver turned to Drag Strip and Motormaster and said,

“Look, if you want a job, just apply. I’ll put in a good word for you with the boss, okay?” The two Stunticons stared at each other and wondered what kind of a lunatic they were driving with.

Finally, the taxis arrived at the beautiful lakefront mansion that Swindle had purchased. It took awhile to extricate the warm, comfy, sleepy warriors from the cars, but the hope of being fed was a powerful magnet to the transformers who were still conscious and the reluctant warriors were eventually removed (see: dragged while still asleep) from the vehicles. Swindle fiddled with the keys as he tried to unlock the front door. And fiddled. And fiddled.

After what seemed like an eternity, Soundwave grabbed the set of keys, inserted them one by one into the door lock, and opened it.

“Thank you,” said someone in exasperation. They stormed into the house.

“Hey, this place is nice,” Rumble said, looking around. It was true. The floor was inset with gleaming green tiles, while the oil paintings hanging on the walnut paneling shone warmly under the light of an elegantly simple gilded chandelier. On one side of the room was a rosewood bench with a series of brass hooks for coats, while on the other side an open door led off deeper into the house.

“Where do they keep the food?!” Brawl howled. Swindle shrugged.

“Look around, I guess.” They did just that, making their way across carpets as soft and thick as moss. Seeking anything that might be edible, they peered hungrily into car-sized bathtubs and yanked open drawers and cupboards. They wandered through two dining rooms, sixteen bedrooms, a game room, a living room, a den, a library and an Egyptian-style sitting room guarded by stone jackals. Their hopeful eyes passed unseeing over dazzling crystal chandeliers, television screens that filled up entire walls, curtains that smelled of roses, and wallpaper that glinted with hints of gold and silver.

Finally Mixmaster discovered a room full of strange black devices that blinked and hummed. An authentic marble counter with a pair of deeps sinks embedded in it ran around half of the wall, and sitting on this counter was a series of boxes. It took a moment for Mixmaster to remember why the pictures on the boxes looked so familiar, but finally he placed them. They were from human commercials he had seen in the Wreck Room. Human commercials about  _food_ . He hesitated no longer. Shrieking joyfully, he launched himself across the room, tore open the nearest box of cereal, and began guzzling down Honey-Oat flakes straight from the box. The warriors in the nearby rooms, hearing the jubilous sound of coughing and choking, stampeded towards the kitchen with howls of "Leave some for me!" 

The resulting feeding frenzy would never again be equaled in all the Chronicles of Cybertron. The kitchen was torn to shreds in a matter of astroseconds, as was the packaging of most of the foods (and non-foods) in the area. Even the seemingly impossible-to-open bag of chips was gnawed apart at the sharp teeth of Blast Off, and the contents were scattered over the floor and instantly ravaged by crazed Decepticons.

“Food, food!” Shrapnel cried with delight.

“That’s my foot!” Astrotrain yelped.

“Mine! Mine!” Thrust howled, trying to tear a package of bacon out of his wingmate's hands.

"I had it first!" Ramjet screamed back, not letting go.

The sound of smashing crockery and the clamor of yelling voice rose out of the house. Across the lawn, behind a trim white picket fence, Mrs. Plumhill listened suspiciously from the neighboring yard while her fox-coloered Pomeranian yapped shrilly and ran back and forth behind the boards.

“Relinquish the yellow things!”

“Forget it, _leader_!” 

*Wham! Crash-tinkle, smash…*

“My arm!!!”

*Crash! Tinkle, SMASH! Tinkle, tinkle—crash!—crunch!*

 

When he finally came back to himself, an out-of-breath Skywarp realized there was no food left, which probably accounted for why he had come out of the reddish haze he had been in to begin with. Motormaster and Scavenger were licking the last of the mingled apple juice and milk off of the floor, and Blitzwing fished for a stray piece of cereal which had rolled under the refrigerator. The rest of the warriors were sprawled around the large kitchen in repose, wheezing from exertion and recovering from wounds received in the battle. Skywarp wondered briefly how they were ever going to put the refrigerator door back on.  _Oh well_ , he thought.  _That’s what the Constructicons are for._

After allowing himself a few moments of rest, he decided he really could do better than to be stuck under the comatose forms of Frenzy, Vortex, and Bombshell, so he proceeded to wriggle out, carefully avoiding the shards of glass littering the floor by placing his hands on the shredded remains of some soda cans. From there he dragged himself over to the nearest carpet and flopped down on his stomach, closing his eyes and surrendering himself to his body’s exhaustion. Nobody else seemed inclined to move.

Awhile later the door chime rang, waking him up.

“Come,” Skywarp said loudly, dragging himself forward so that he could peer down the hallway that the noise had come from. A door--the front door, Skywarp saw surprisedly--opened up and a human dressed in a familiar-looking blue uniform peeked slowly in and caught sight of him. After a moment of thought, Skywarp recognized him as a policeman.

“Excuse me,” the policeman said in a voice that Skywarp could immediately sense authority in. He quickly sat up.

“Yes?”

“We had reports of a wild party going on here?”

“Oh no. We were just hungry,” Skywarp explained.

“Mind if I take a look inside?”

“No problem,” Skywarp gestured courteously towards the kitchen. The officer stepped inside and walked around Skywarp to look into the kitchen. Skywarp crawled after him and sat down in the doorway to see what he was going to do.

“You boys been drinking?” the human asked blandly.

“Yes,” Megatron replied, pointing at Starscream, who was lying on the floor with an inverted milk jug held over his lips, shaking the last few drops into his open mouth. “Who are you? State your business.”

“Officer Denowski, city police. We had a report of disorderly conduct here.”

“So there was,” Megatron said, kicking Starscream meaningfully.

“Who ripped the door off the big white box again?” Starscream asked pointedly. The officer pulled out a tablet and a writing utensil.

“I’m going to need to get your names…”

Things only got worse from there. It seemed like a friendly little feeding frenzy with a bit of disorderly conduct was not only frowned upon in human society, but illegal as well!

“You’re going to take our money for doing nothing?” Starscream demanded.

“Disorderly conduct isn't nothing," the officer replied as he wrote.

“You and your plans!” Starscream snapped at Megatron.

“Silence!” Megatron snapped back, bouncing an empty jelly jar (one of the few that remained intact) off of Starscream’s head. But Starscream had finally had enough. He sat up, picked up a nearby sugar jar, and hurled it at Megatron. It smashed directly into his face with a hollow bonk. Instantly enraged, Megatron leapt to his feet, and even as the police officer moved to intervene the Decepticon leader grabbed for Starscream’s throat. The ensuing fight was shockingly brief. As Megatron attempted to crush the neurocircuitry in Starscream’s neck into a single wire and Starscream tried frantically to break Megatron's hold, the police officer delivered a solid blow to the side of Megatron's face and he slumped to the ground. There was a short scuffle between Starscream and the officer, but then the officer punched him in the midsection and Starscream doubled over, gasping. With angry cries, the other Decepticons leapt to their feet to assist, but they froze as one when the Soundwave shouted in a clear and firm voice,

"Do not interfere!"

"But--" Thundercracker began angrily, and Soundwave repeated more strongly,

 _"_ Do _not_ interfere!" Skywarp, who was on the verge of taking a swing at the officer's face, held himself back by sheer force of will. He stood there, looking back and forth from Soundwave to the wheezing figure of Starscream, not able to disobey, but ready to do so at the slightest signal. Megatron gave a weak groan and pushed himself slowly up off the floor onto his hands and knees. All eyes in the room watched him, waiting for him to countermand Soundwave's inexplicable order to hold back. 

"You're going to have to come with me to the station," the policeman stated, his voice tense but firm. Skywarp suddenly noticed he had a gun on his belt. Megatron said nothing for a moment, simply staring at the officer from his place on the floor. Skywarp stood there rigidly, ready to spring when the Decepticon leader gave the command.

It never came. Instead he watched silently as Megatron, half pushing a weakly protesting Starscream, allowed himself to be escorted away out of the room and out of the house while the officer explained what a lawyer was and why they had the right to remain silent. All the Decepticons stared out the window dazedly and watched as the two ranking leaders of the Decepticon army were driven away in one of the Prowl-like police cars.

"What was that for?" Thundercracker growled, and the spell of silence was broken. As one, the Decepticons turned on Soundwave with angry cries for an explanation.

"Resistance: futile. Armanent of officer superior. Disclosure of our location would jeopardize the mission." With each flatly stated conclusion, Soundwave's voice dropped a note, and so did Skywarp's hopes.

Onslaught counted the number of Decepticons left.

“What is 26 times 100?” he asked Soundwave.

“2,600,” Soundwave replied.

“Swindle, do you have enough to cover all the fines we just got?” he asked. Swindle nodded grimly. Skywarp just crawled back onto the carpet, threw an arm over his eyes, and waited for recharge to relieve him of their new crop of problems.

 

“So when did you start feeling this way?”

“It was right after I came onl—was born,” Dead End replied, slouching in his chair in dismal boredom and staring at the primitive wall decorations. At least no one had replaced the plants the Insecticons had eaten, although they probably would, and probably with bigger ones too, making the clinic even more of a nasty, dirty forest than it already was.

“And how do you know that?” Dr. Hunter asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Dead End replied dully.

“Do you remember the exact moments after you were born?”

“Of course,” Dead End sighed. “How could I forget waking up and being so utterly miserable?” Dr. Hunter scribbled some notes down on a yellow pad he was holding.

“So, after you awoke from being shot with the ray, you felt miserable right away.”

“No, it was after I was born.”

“And you consider the moment of being shot with the ray the moment you were born?” Dead End sighed again.

“I suppose you could say that.” He had gotten another body out of it, anyway.

“And you remember nothing from before being struck by the ray.” Dead End just nodded.

“Mostly.” He turned to stare at the ceiling as the wall became too boring. At least the ceiling was undecorated. Joy.

“And… Why do you think you started to feel miserable?” Dr. Hunter probed. “Can you identify any links to why you feel this way, impressions, anything?”

“If I must.” Dead End slouched further down in his chair and squished at his fleshy fingers, which he had gotten into the habit of doing. Nothing like dwelling on his depressing human condition to remind him that he was probably going to remain that way for the rest of his tediously long life. “First, there’s the boredom. There’s absolutely nothing to do around here. Not that I ever had much to do anyway, and when I did, of course it was miserable. My father was always making me risk my senseless life on futile endeavors.” He figured ‘father’ would be an acceptable word to describe Motormaster, in terms of human relationships. The doctor’s writing utensil flashed like Dead End’s still all-too-long life going by as he slumped there explaining all the things his father made him do and the ghastly ways he made Dead End’s life even more miserable than it already was. “And then there was my father’s father…” He groaned, covering his eyes with a hand as he thought of Megatron. “It would be physically impossible for him to care less about a lowly creature such as I, which was why he always sent us off into fights which he knew we were only going to lose and undoubtedly get dragged off from as horribly disfigured wreckage.”

“He sent you and your father off into fights?”

“All the time. But when he didn’t, then I had to endure the tedium of waiting for my life to end in the next fight he sent us into anyway, which was almost as bad, so it didn’t really matter. Just like everything else in the universe. So what’s the point of going on at all?” He returned to looking wearily up at the depressingly dull ceiling. 

“Ed,” the doctor began in a compassionate voice. “There is hope.” The doctor droned drearily on as Dead End counted the all-too-slow ticks of the chronometer on the desk. Would this misery never end? Or was he doomed here, through some temporal quirk, to remain stuck staring at the drab ceiling forever, listening to the doctor making an impossibly long and dull speech, which if possible, surpassed even Soundwave’s most monotonous technical briefing?

Finally the clock’s slow hand struck the wretched hour when he would be cast back out into the cold, lonely clinic to wander in aimless, terrifying boredom, waiting for sudden death to strike without warning—ending his meaningless, miserable existence forever, with no one to mourn his passing. The doctor handed him his midday pill (they were supposed to make him feel less depressed in some amount of countless weeks), and he swallowed it and was unpleasantly surprised to find that his depressing existence had not been extinguished at last by the lodging of the pill in his air intake.

He had known it as only be a matter of time before that happened to him as soon as Mixmaster had almost died from catching a bit of meat in his intake. Of course, now Mixmaster was probably dead anyway (as they all would be sooner or later), or worse, alive and stumbling in terror through the countryside slowly dying of cold, thirst, and hunger while his vital fluids slowly bled away in a horrifyingly painful death. Or ever worse, he could be saved and brought back to the clinic to undergo more of the excruciatingly dull, empty existence which Dead End was now suffering in silent misery, with no one to care about it except a tediously boring psychiatrist who only worsened the situation. 

He could just imagine what his fellow Stunticons were doing right now, the ones besides Wildrider and Breakdown at least (who were languishing in this horrible place with him). They were probably jumping up and down with glee at the thought that Dead End was gone, and planning to leave him as a dirty flesh creature forever, or worse yet, decide to squish him for Megatron’s pleasure—never even knowing that one day they too would find themselves slipping away into oblivion in an excruciating (and probably very slow) death.

Dead End mournfully trudged to the cafeteria line, so like the line that would one day be at his funeral—cheerful, smiling, and joyful to see that at last he was gone forever.  _Surely the end of my life will be soon, as I lie on the floor wracked with terrifying spasms of painful coughing as a chunk of food blocks my intake and I slowly die of suffocation, while the crowd laughs at my untimely demise…_ He spooned some small, ugly, green spheres onto his plate and sighed heavily. The other Decepticons, at least, probably didn’t have to endure the misery of eating where they were. Of course, then they would only starve.

 

Dirge's fingers were clenched on his cafeteria tray hard enough to turn them white around the edges. Fear? No. Terror? Oh, yes. He had thought his situation at Decepticon base was bad, but now he saw that he had been living in a blissful haven of happiness. Now, of course, it was too late to appreciate the good times. He was trapped in a nightmare world, a mouse dwelling amidst hungry cats. Dirge made his way through the crowded cafeteria and sat down in a relatively isolated corner at the back of the room. Humans swirled about, chattering, laughing and talking, their bizarre alien flesh and furry heads bobbing and waggling in constant motion. How strange, how alien, how incomprehensible! It was enough to make Dirge want to crawl into a dark hole and shiver, and considering that he hated small places even more than he hated public places, that was a big deal. But there was no way to hide from the fact that he too had wiggly flesh and a furry head and ate strange foods that squelched disgustingly in his mouth. 

He shuddered as he looked down at the food on his tray. The only remotely edible thing he had seen were the transparent ruby red cubes he had on his plate. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine that they were energon cubes with way too many fuel additives added. Dirge prodded one with his fork and noted with disgust that it was sproingy and bouncy. Food was not supposed to act like that. And what would he do if it got stuck in his throat? He didn't want to choke! Mixmaster had said that the Heimlich maneuver was a horrible experience, just as bad as choking but in a different way... Dirge grimaced, and twisted his hands together uncontrollably. He glanced over at the round cafeteria clock and with an effort, read what time it was: two...fifteen...thirty-nine. Pm. The others should be here shortly. Dirge stared at the clock and watched the seconds tick by, and a icy cold wind of fear washed over him. His days were numbered and ticking. As a human, he had only a few years of life left, probably only 50 or so. Death was inevitable. With that thought, Dirge lost what little appetite he had. Dismally, he stared out across the noisy room. Unbidden, the psychologist's words floated across his mind: death is a natural part of life. He had never heard anything so stupid in all his days. Maybe for a human it was okay to just surrender to the inevitable, but he wasn't a human--he was a Decepticon warrior, and he controlled his own destiny!

"Yo, Dirk," someone said, breaking into his thoughts. A human he belatedly recognized as Wildrider slid into the bench next to him, accompanied by a nervously twitching Breakdown. "Ha, you look as bad as him!" the Stunticon exclaimed, jerking his head towards Breakdown. Dirge stared at them morosely and made no response. Wildrider voraciously scooped up a spoonful of white goop and fed it into his mouth, loudly smacking his lips. Breakdown stared down at his tray, his cheek ticcing spasmodically. Wildrider slugged down a gulp of the purple fluid in his cup. Dirge felt sick.

"Where's Dead End?" Dirge finally managed to ask, trying not to look as Wildrider began to rip the flesh off the bone of some dead animal with his bare teeth.

"Mm-mm! I loooove fried chicken," Wildrider exclaimed, not answering. "I'm gonna get seconds on this." Breakdown had the decency to look sick. "Dead End's--I mean, Dudley's--around--munch, smack--here somewhere--crunch," Wildrider finished, speaking through a mouthful of fried chicken. As if on cue, Dead End appeared out of the cafeteria crowd and walked towards them, eyes turned towards the ground and feet dragging as if in a funeral procession. Dirge had attended enough funerals to know the look. The gloomy Stunticon parked himself in the bench next to Dirge, who slid aside to give him room. "What a buncha downers you two are!" Wildrider laughed. "C'mon, cheer up!" Dirge had heard  _that_ one before. That and, "You need to get out more often." What, was Ramjet his creator? 

"We're doomed," Dead End droned, staring miserably down at his plate. "Dooooomed."

"No, we're not," Dirge objected through gritted teeth. "We're in a bad situation. But we're not doomed yet."

"Resistance is futile," Dead End sighed drearily. "It's over already, you just don't know it yet."

"You've been watching too much Star Trek," Wildrider said. "I agree with Dirk. We'll make it." Dirge wished he could believe that. The fact was, they probably  _were_ doomed. But he wasn't resigned to that fate yet. Human or not, he was still a Decepticon warrior. He could control his destiny--or at least, he would try! He repeated the words to himself like a mantra. Suddenly he noticed that his palms were beginning to hurt. Looking down, he saw that his hands were clenched into white fists and his fingernails were biting into the soft flesh. He shakily unclenched his hands, placing them palms down on the table. 

"What are we going to do?" he demanded brusquely.

"For now, eat," Wildrider said with a grin, gesturing at his plate of red cubes. "I take it you're fond of jello, Dirk?" He turned to Breakdown and shoved the other's plate closer to him. "Eat. That means you too, Brock."

"I don't want to!" Breakdown whispered tremulously, twitching like a half dead insect. "You saw what happened to Mick."

"Get over it," Wildrider suggested brusquely. "None of the stuff I got you can choke you. It's all too mushy to get caught in your throat. Now eat or I'll force feed you." With a shudder, Breakdown began picking at a pile of fluffy green foam on his plate. Wildrider reached over and scooped a spoonful of the foam, and for a moment Dirge thought he was actually going to follow through with his threat. But instead Wildrider popped the spoonful into his own mouth. "Mm! Good!" he said with relish, sounding rather like a mother trying to convince her two year old to eat the lima bean flavored baby food. "Try some of this, it's real tasty." Dirge watched queasily as Wildrider spooned some green foam onto his and Dead End's plates. "Gotta keep your strength up," the Stunticon said cheerily. Well, Dirge couldn't deny that. Much as he loathed food and eating, he didn't want to starve either. Picking up the instrument called the spoon, he managed to scoop up a cube of what Wildrider had called jello. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth and shoved the full spoon inside. Then, like he had been shown, he clenched his teeth down on the implement and pulled it out so that the jello block stayed inside his mouth. He began to chew, crushing the cube into shreds of slimy mush. It wasn't the worst thing he had eaten as a human. Across the table from him, Nervous Breakdown ate a spoonful of his green foam, smouching and biting at it like a dog trying to chew gum.

"See, good, ain't it?" Wildrider said, stuffing another piece of fried chicken into his mouth. "You should go get more of that stuff. Fill your plate up."

"What are we going to do?" Dirge repeated in a hiss, addressing the question to Wildrider. It was obvious that Dead End and Breakdown would be of no help in getting out of this mess. Wildrider, for all his customary boisterousness, at least seemed like he had some ideas about what they needed to do.

"The commander--crunch, crunch--said to stay," Wildrider shrugged, chewing loudly. "So--gulp--we stay."

"And what if he doesn't come back for us?" Dirge demanded.

"He's not coming back. He's planning to get rid of us," Dead End sighed.

"I said eat, Dudley," Wildrider snapped. Dead End glumly began to toy with his spoonful of green foam.

"Well?" Dirge prompted, trying to pretend he hadn't heard Dead End's dreary prediction.

"Then we get ourselves outta here," Wildrider declared confidently. "Mick did it and so can we."

"He's probably dead by now," Dead End mumbled.

"Or maybe he's halfway to the 'bridge already," Wildrider retorted.

"And how are we going to get ourselves out of here?" Dirge asked, scooping up another red cube. "They're on their guard now."

"So? This place has got a dozen ways to get out. We just wait for the commander a few months, and if he doesn't show up we take off on our own. I can hotwire a car for us." Dirge considered the Stunticon's words for a moment. It was a similar plan to the one he'd been thinking of, although it hadn't occurred to him to hotwire a vehicle. He had simply assumed that they would have to swipe one.

"Okay," Dirge agreed. "We'll wait."

"Great. We got ourselves a plan," Wildrider said. Then he threw back his head and laughed as if the idea of a plan were the funniest thing he had ever heard. Nervous Breakdown cringed down lower into his seat, glancing around nervously to see if his teammate's booming laugh had attracted any attention. It had. Breakdown slumped into a tiny quivering knot.

"Shhhh! Shhhhh!" he hissed anxiously.

"We're doomed," Dead End stated miserably, and tears began dripping out of his eyes into the green spheres on his plate. Dirge stared from one Stunticon to another as they laughed, twitched and cried. Oh yeah, they were definitely doomed.

 

“We need food!” Kickback shouted. The Insecticons had already eaten all the tropical foliage in the house and all the grass on the lawn and were now sawing pieces off of the wooden furniture with serrated knives that had been discovered in the silverware drawer.

“This wood is too tough for our teeth, teeth,” Shrapnel agreed, nevertheless gnawing vigorously on a chunk of the overturned kitchen table. The Insecticons were definitely the most lively of the Decepticons--not that this was any particular distinction, since the other warriors were at the moment sprawled around the house in various stages of recuperation despite the fact that it was now morning. Soundwave silently went over to the human house computer and systematically pressed buttons on it until it activated. It slooooowly came online. He accessed the planetary data network again and typed in ‘food procurement’ for his search term. A wide variety of topics came up, including "foraging," "grocery stores," and other miscellaneous topics relating loosely to his search term. What his eyes turned to, however, were the small advertisements on the side of the page:

“Looking for a good meal with your family?” one asked. Soundwave clicked the link. It turned out to be a useless source to him, since the location of the restaurant was too far away, but he quickly found an alternative restaurant nearby with directions. He summoned the others together and realized as he saw them that they were in no condition to be seen in public (with the exception of Skywarp, who was fairly clean because Rumble and Frenzy had repeatedly thrown him into the pool). Soundwave was quite proud that finally his cassettes could demonstrate to the other Decepticons that their battle prowess equaled that of the other warriors--indeed, exceeded it. He hoped some of that respect would remain after they had returned to their real bodies. 

Soundwave waited patiently until everyone had arrived. At last the last warrior limped in (apparently Thundercracker still had not yet recovered from falling out of the tree in pursuit of a climbing rodent), and Soundwave addressed them:

“Mission, sanitization in pool.” The briefing ended.

“Come on, Skywarp, let’s do a little more sanitization, huh?” Rumble said, a smirk breaking out on his face as he looked over at Frenzy. There was silence as Skywarp seriously pondered the consequences of his actions for once in his life.

“Didn’t you torment him enough yesterday?” Thundercracker said disapprovingly, limping over next to Skywarp to fold his arms and glare at them. The cassettes were silent for a moment, then replied unanimously:

“No.” However, since it was obvious they would have to go through Thundercracker to get to Skywarp, and since Thundercracker was one of the nicer ‘cons to them, Rumble said,

“Aw, we can have more fun with Skywarp later. Let’s go.” Skywarp breathed a mental sigh of relief.

“I’m gonna go find somewhere to hide,” he said, clapping Thundercracker on the shoulder in gratitude and heading for the stairs.

“It better be a good place,” Thundercracker warned, then headed off to the swimming pool with the others.

Soundwave, of course, carefully supervised the sanitation, stepping in occasionally to remind the participants that humans needed air to function, which was inaccessible underwater. From time to time he would pull out a thrashing Decepticon who had been tossed into the deep end. Since he couldn’t swim himself, he accomplished this feat by crawling out along the springy board suspended over the water and reaching down to the half-drowned warrior to escort him back along the side of the board to the edge of the pool. From there they could climb out or be dragged out, as the situation necessitated. Most of the Decepticons, however, quickly learned how to propel themselves through the water and were not in danger of drowning. At least, they weren't until they discovered what the diving board was really for. Across the fence, Mrs. Plumhill listened suspiciously as she pretended to prune her hedges.

“Ack—gaaaasp!—blulblbu!”

“Shouldn’t he have come up by now?”

“I think that’s a record for holding your breath underwater the longest.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely winning.”

“Wonder when he’s gonna give in?”

“Hey, watch this!”

“Wait, let me get out of the—OW!”

“Gee, Dragstrip’s _really_ good at holding his breath, isn’t he?” 

“Hey, I can swim on my back!”

“Get off of me—noooblblbuubllb…”

“Watch this!”

“Help, someone, pleeaaase!”

“Soundwave!”

“Well, that definitely breaks the breath-holding record.”

“Hey Soundwave! How long is it that humans don’t need to breath for anyway?”

After looking up the treatment for drowning victims on the internet and successfully applying it to several Decepticons, Soundwave determined that the sanitation mission was complete. He also found a writing utensil and wrote the phone number ‘911’ next to the telephone in large, black letters, with an arrow pointing to the phone itself, and gave orders that if any warrior was not breathing or was showing other significant signs of distress, that number was to be called immediately.

Since the sanitization mission had fortunately worn most of the force out temporarily, they slouched out across the various couches in the new Wreck Room (sometimes called the recreation center by Decepticons visiting the underwater base from Cybertron) and were relatively quiet for a short amount of time (one minute, to be exact). Then they got bored. Since one of the more popular entertainments consisted of breaking things (such as arms, legs, and whatever other objects got involved in the entertainment) Soundwave decided it would be a good idea to arrange something for them to do while they dried out.

Knowing that television was a popular past-time with humans, he accessed the planetary data network again and found out how to turn the TV set on. After additional experimentation, he found the remote control and demonstrated how to operate the set. The TV showed a picture of humans walking down a street, talking. Soundwave showed them how to change the channel.

“Well change it already!” someone demanded, already bored of the show. Rumble, who had the remote control, pushed the channel button.

“Next!” Blitzwing shouted, as after three seconds of evaluation the show did not satisfy his exquisite tastes. Rumble flipped the channel. This channel lasted about one second before the majority shouted,

“Next!” He flipped it again.

“The baby birds wait for their mother-”

“Next!”

“-the air freshener that never quits! And for-”

“Next!”

“-yeah, keep it up, this is a really good exercise for the heart-”

“Next!” The screen depicted an oddly dressed human screaming incoherently into a microphone.

“Next!”

"These foreign films make no sense, sense," Shrapnel complained.

“T is the letter of a turtle, traveling towards a ten. Ten, Ten, Teeeenn…” The response was a little delayed as the group wondered literally what on Earth this particular show was about, but finally,

“Next!”

*KA-BOOOOOOM!* There was silence from the Decepticon audience. Flesh-creatures ran around screaming on the screen as an explosion blossomed in the background. The scene switched to a lone human running through a hallway, with dramatic action music playing in the background. Suddenly several uniformed humans accosted him. The human began shooting at the uniformed humans, the projectiles fired by its gun knocking the uniformed humans into the air and back up against the wall, where they slumped noiselessly. 

“Yeah right!” Bonecrusher shouted derisively.

“Pleeease!” Hook agreed. “Those projectiles would have to have a much greater mass and velocity before they could knock even a rki’thon off the ground.”

“As though a little shot like that would finish them off!” Vortex snorted. “Even a flesh creature should still be kicking after being shot with only a single bullet!” The human ran into more guards, but they managed to disarm him so he had to fight them in hand-to-hand combat. Soundwave turned away from the computer to watch, as the scene appeared to have training value for fighting as a human. The human executed a series of risky flips and the audience wondered why the guards hadn’t managed to kill him yet. He then proceeded to fight several of them at once, using strange, unconventional fighting techniques.

“If someone tried that on me…” Astrotrain growled, punching his fist into his open hand as the human left himself completely open to a side attack. A few chuckles broke out as the human then hurled himself from a 20 foot high window and landed on his feet, continuing to run.

“I don’t think so!” Thundercracker protested in outrage. There was more laughter as the human tackled about ten more guards, knocking them down and running away from them. The laughter got harder and harder as the human encountered more attackers and fought them off completely through flipping and kicking.

“Now that’s funny!” Frenzy said, giggling.

“Why don’t they shoot him?” Onslaught demanded.

“Maybe they forgot their weapons!” Vortex cackled. Soundwave had by this time turned away from the TV and was working on the internet again. The simulation, if lacking in verisimilitude, was at least occupying the warriors’ attention. Finally, he figured out how to make a reservation at a restaurant, and while the force was temporarily occupied with something non-hazardous, he got up, requisitioned one of the cell phones from Swindle’s collection, and headed to another room to make arrangements at the restaurant of choice.

Meanwhile, on the TV the human met up with another human whom he appeared to recognize, and they attacked each other with a series of kicks and punches which had worked for the previous twelve guards but now had no effect. The fight continued for awhile, but soon the original human knocked out his opponent and then rushed off to do something else. Fairly entertained by the mistakes, if not the action, the Decepticons watched, laughing occasionally at the ridiculous gun fight the human had gotten himself into.

But finally, the human grabbed a female human, and the two began to suck at each others’ mouths in a way that nauseated even the most hardened Decepticon warrior, so the channel was changed again.

“So we add one cup of shredded cheese-”

“Next!”

“No! Leave it!” Bombshell shouted.

“Yeah!” Kickback seconded.

“NO!” the rest of the Decepticons shouted them down, and Rumble changed the channel.

“The U.N. convened today to discuss a new leader for the World Bank…”

“Hey, isn’t that you Swindle?”

“Shhhh! I’m on the phone!” Swindle hissed. “Sorry. What were you saying about those shares again?” He plugged the audiosensor that wasn’t next to his cell phone with his hand.

“Next!” The next picture was a black and white scene of artillery pieces firing.

“Hey, where’d the color go?”

“…the Desert Fox used a clever ruse to fool the enemy into thinking that his main force was advancing, when in fact…” The booming artillery pieces held their attention (despite the fact that the TV’s color setting was broken) for long enough that Rumble lowered the remote control.

“After advancing on the city of Kadez, Montgomery decided to attempt…” Red (apparently the color settings really were working) arrows showing the directions of troop movements appeared on the screen over what appeared to be the top of Africa, if memory served. They watched a few minutes longer.

“Who is this Montgomery?!” Onslaught finally demanded. “And why is he leading the Allied Forces? I would have fired him long ago!”

“Well that guy Rommel was pretty smart, if you ask me,” Brawl said.

“Him, yes. A rare exception,” Onslaught admitted.

“Can we watch something  _interesting_ now?” Ramjet complained. 

“This  _is_ interesting,” Onslaught stated, as a picture of tanks rumbling across the desert in black and white showed on the screen. The narrator began, 

“The retreat was one of the most brilliantly planned maneuvers in military history…”

“Not interesting enough,” Thrust said.

“Change the channel!” A mutter of agreement spread through the rest of the group. Rumble pushed the channel button.

“What? *Hahahahahahaha!* You’re dating Roxanne? *Hahahahahahaha!* I thought-”

"Hey, I love this show!" Skywarp exclaimed.

“Next!”

“After Optimus Prime’s lengthy address to the legislature-”

“NEXT!!! Please next!”

“-you buy now, we’ll also include a free patent leather-”

“Next!”

“-love you Sylvia—I love you with all my heart!” The two humans were poised over a precipice with boiling lava below, with their arms wrapped around each other as they gazed into one anothers’ eyes. It looked mildly interesting. “Kiss me one last time… *smouch, smack*”

“*Gag* Next!”

“-the truck that drives— _anywhere!_ Buy now and get zero percent APR financing through the month of—” 

“Next!”

“Let’s tell a story!!! Once upon a…”

“Next!” The screen flipped from the talking puppets to a darkened swamp. A creature slowly rose from the muck, revealing goopy tentacles and multiple compound eyes. The music rose dramatically. 

“What’s that?” Long Haul asked Shrapnel, who was sitting next to him.

“I don’t recognize the species, species,” Shrapnel paused in his chewing to answer. He ripped another page out of the book he was eating and stuffed it into his mouth. Bombshell reached over and ripped one off for himself.

“Next!”

“-the appointment of the new Secretary of the Treasury was…”

“Hey Swindle! You’re on TV again!” Brawl called. Swindle ignored them as he shouted into his cell phone,

“Sell them now! Sell them all!”

“Next!”

“-up the horses Bill. I’ve got a feelin’ in my bones like somp’n ain’t right about this here place…” Suddenly humans wearing bizarre costumes came charging out from behind some big rocks which were an obvious ambush point, screaming, “Woowoowoowoowoowoowoowoo!” and waving sharpened rocks tied to sticks.

“I told ya Jim! Get the rifles! Quick!” another human shouted.

“Too weird,” Dragstrip stated. “Next.” Rumble flipped the channel again.

“Stat!” Humans rushed around a white-sheet-draped body with equipment. The scene cut to a picture of a gruesome, blood-filled hole in the human’s chest.

“AAagh!” Scavenger yelled, covering his eyes. Gasps of disgust and revulsion rose from the audience, but Rumble was fixated in horror upon the screen, mesmerized by the blood. Several warriors fainted, while the remainder of the force was sickenly reminded of the vital-fluid sucking the doctors had done to them earlier.

“Change the channel! Change the channel!” Frenzy screamed, but Rumble just sat there frozen, gaping at the gory picture. The camera angle shifted to a close up of a horrifying instrument wielded by a white dressed human with a facial mask reminiscent of Soundwave’s.

“Great Cybertron…” someone moaned in shock as the human began to cut into the motionless sheet-draped human. (Thankfully, the picture was no longer directly showing the wound.) Frenzy yanked the remote control out of Rumble’s frozen hand and stabbed the channel button, changing the scene to one of singing animals.

“That’s what we’re like inside?” Hook said, aghast.

“How revolting!” Long Haul shivered, pulling his shirt up to look at where the hole had been on the other human.

“D-D-Disgusting!” Mixmaster cried.

“When we share together… It’s so much fun! When we play together… It’s so much fun!” the animals sung on the screen.

“We’re not even going to _try_ to repair any of you if you break yourselves,” Scrapper warned everyone. 

“Don’t worry, we won’t!” Blitzwing declared vehemently.

“Bonecrusher? Bonecrusher, are you alright?” Long Haul shook his unconscious team mate. "Huh, he's gone to sleep."

“Just like Dirge,” Ramjet observed, poking Bonecrusher’s leg with extreme gentleness.

“So, let’s sing, share, and play together….” the animals sung, dancing around each other in circles with happy smiles on their faces. At that moment, Soundwave, having completed the reservations at last, entered the room again. Finding nothing out of the ordinary but a few of the Decepticons asleep, he then noticed their choice of television shows. Everyone looked up at him. 

“It’s not what you think!” Rumble protested suddenly.

“We were, I mean, we were watching this other show and it-it was really, really disgusting, and…” the other Decepticons took up the excuses. Soundwave wondered if they were telling the truth about their choice of TV stations, or if they were simply unwell after all that they had been through. At any rate, they looked dry enough now.

“Straighten hair,” he said. “Prepare to leave for food energization.” Exclamations of delight broke out among them, (except among the Insecticons, who had their mouths full of paper) and they promptly began to rake each others’ hair into place with their fingers. They choked the arms of the sleeping (or rather, unconscious) warriors, then slapped them about until they came to. Soundwave wondered just how much fighting there had been in his absence.

 

The taxis pulled up shortly, and the Decepticons loaded up and took off down the road into the city. As the Stunticons gave sage advice to the nearest driver, the rest of the Decepticons stared out the windows at the now-seemingly-large buildings, or, in the case of the Insecticons, attempted to feed upon the upholstery.

“Wow, I see why those things are called skyscrapers now,” Thundercracker said, face pressed against the glass as he watched the scenery pass by. He accidentally engaged one of the buttons on the arm rest and the window came open slightly. This delighted both him and Skywarp, and they amused themselves momentarily by playing with the various buttons on the armrest until the driver told them to leave it open or shut. They decided to leave it open, but then the driver told Thundercracker to put his seat belt back on and get off the roof, so they ended up shutting it again. Skywarp combed Thundercracker’s wind-tussled hair back into its proper formation, then they sat there bored until Skywarp noticed the poky writing utensil he had found at the house and put into his back pocket for later use.

“Hey, look what I have.” He pulled the jabbing pen out and pulled off the cap.

“How’s it work?” Thundercracker asked curiously.

“Well…” Skywarp looked around for something to demonstrate on, and his eyes fell upon Thundercracker’s not-so-clean shirt. He took a handful and proceeded to draw a line across it. “Like that.”

“Let me try,” Thundercracker said, taking the pen and drawing a little aircraft design next to the line.

“Hey!….” Skywarp suddenly said in a tone of voice which Thundercracker had learned to take as a sign that his life was in imminent danger. “You know how some humans have those body designs on their skin…?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s make some of those!”

Thundercracker, fortunately, had a reputation among the Decepticons as being a level-headed, more-mature type, who did his duties and did them well. Unfortunately, that reputation was completely unfounded when he was with Skywarp.

“Sounds good to me.”

“What should we do?” Skywarp asked.

“How about a… Hmm………. Aw, just draw something.” Skywarp took Thundercracker’s hand and proceeded to draw on it. Thrust, who was the third party in the back seat with them, leaned over to watch. Ramjet was sitting in the front seat, making polite conversation with the driver about the weather, the scenery, and a no-doubt-rich-with-morals story about two F-15 pilots who went crazy on the paint jobs of their airplanes and were subsequently shot down by an angry blue and white fighter with a pilot by the name of ‘Sonny Waver.’ However, Skywarp and Thundercracker were much too engaged in decorating each other (human skin was so terribly dull!) to listen.

By the time the taxis were halfway to ‘The Golden Ritz,’ Skywarp and Thundercracker (and a reluctant Thrust), had every square inch of exposed skin tattooed to the max. Skywarp proudly sported some of the thousands of Autobots kills he had made in little symbols that ran down his arms, while Thundercracker had requested flames there instead. Bizarre spirals reminiscent of early Cybertronian force-field art decorated both of their faces, while Skywarp had gone a bit crazy with spots around Thundercracker’s eyes. Thundercracker had jokingly drawn a pair of fangs under Skywarp’s lower lip, giving him the vague appearance of Ravage, so Skywarp had reciprocated by writing ‘shoot me’ on Thundercracker’s forehead in Cybertronian. With much muffled giggling Skywarp and Thundercracker had given Thrust a new paint job consisting of poorly drawn planes which were soaring over his eyebrows and crashing into his nose. On one cheek Optimus Prime stood pointing to the hairs which grew on Thrust’s chin and saying with a horrified expression, “Great Cybertron, what are those?!?” On the other side, they couldn’t think of anything good to do, so they just drew Starscream and wrote, “My favorite Air Commander.”

“Trust me, you’ll love it,” was the only comment Skywarp managed to get out through his hysterical laughter.

 

One car back, one half of the Constructicons sat critiquing the architecture and speculating on what exactly Skywarp and Thundercracker were doing in the car in front of them.

“They’ve got black lines all over their faces, necks, everywhere now. It looks like they’ve finished with Thrust. I can’t tell what they’ve done to him yet.”

“Those spirals look rather like early force-field art,” Scrapper observed interestedly, peering through the windshield.

“They’d better hope those come off easy,” Bonecrusher growled.

“Hey, what are we slowing down for?” Long Haul asked as the taxi slowed down substantially.

“Thees ees a construction site, señor,” their driver informed them, driving through it at a snail’s pace.

“Excellent,” Scrapper said, unclicking his seat belt. “Let’s get out and take a look.” He was half-way out the door by the time the driver’s cries let him know that he shouldn’t be doing that. “What?” Scrapper asked, somewhat surprised by the reaction. He reinserted himself and closed the door again. The driver talked very fast in a difficult-to-understand manner from which they gathered that one does not leave moving vehicles, no matter how slow, no matter what. “Really?” Scrapper asked again. “I didn’t know.” The driver elaborated on the niceties of vehicle etiquette for their benefit, while one car back, the Stunticons also did so…

 

“Smash right through that little road hog!”

“Yeah! Show him who has the right of way!”

“How did you guys ever get your licenses?” the driver shook his head.

“What do you mean, ‘licenses?’” Motormaster demanded.

“That does explain a few things,” the driver said wryly. “Do you want to know how much you would have had to pay in traffic fees so far?”

“How much?”

“Over 10,000 dollars, not counting insurance and lawsuits,” the driver stated. Swindle made gasping and choking noises from the back seat, which prompted Brawl to attempt to give him the Heimlich maneuver.

“What’s a license?” Dragstrip asked. The driver laughed a little as though it was a joke. “No, really,” Dragstrip insisted when the driver still said nothing.

“Well, it’s the piece of plastic that says you’re a good enough driver to be allowed out on the road. You guys have never heard of a license before?”

“No. How do you get one?”

“First, you have to train with someone, like a driving instructor—or better yet, your mom or dad—who teaches you how to drive. Then you take a driving test and a person rates you on how well you do.”

“Is this driving test pretty hard?”

“It depends how much you’ve practiced. However, for you two, probably hard. Very, very, very, very, very, very hard.”

“Why do you say that?” Motormaster demanded.

“Because you would have flunked it without even pulling out of your own driveway,” The driver replied with a humorous grin on his face.

 

Still another car back, Bombshell chewed on the seatbelt without managing to dent it. “Hey, cut that out!” the driver screeched as he noticed. “You guys would eat the clothes off a man’s back!” There was silence as the three Insecticons pondered his words. “Hey! Stop it! Let go of me!!!” The car swerved, and Shrapnel and Kickback released his shirt. The driver muttered darkly into his radio. The three Insecticons turned to each other, eyes glistening hungrily as they noticed each others’ shirts for the first time…

 

By the time they had reached the Golden Ritz, the Decepticons had acquired quite a reputation in taxidom. Skywarp and Thundercracker got out, proudly displaying their new body designs, while Ramjet finally got a look at what they had done to Thrust. Unlike the other Decepticons, who were quite amused by all three paint jobs, Ramjet and Thrust were displeased (to put it mildly).

“Let it be a surprise, huh?!” Ramjet yelled at the two fleeing Seekers as he and Thrust chased them around the cars in the parking lot. Fortunately, before they could ‘improve’ on either of the two culprits with a pen borrowed from their taxi driver, Soundwave called them to order in front of the building.

“We’re gonna get you…” Thrust muttered under his breath to the gasping Skywarp, who was still chuckling uncontrollably.

“Want help?” Rumble volunteered from down the line.

“Silence,” Soundwave said. “Improve appearance.” He pointed at the Insecticons, who were now busily munching on the flowers in the conveniently located pots in front of the restaurant. Their clothes hung in tatters on their bodies. Soundwave led the way into the building. FIX

“I had no idea Soundwave was so… Cheap!” Scrapper muttered as they stepped inside. The building didn’t have even the primitive _electrical_ style lighting! Instead, candles fluttered weakly in the darkened interior, while the furnishings appeared to be only slightly more deluxe than those back at the house. Soft music tinkled in the background, but it was too low to hear decently. 

“Sheesh…” Dragstrip said, glancing around and squinting into the darkness. “How are we supposed to eat in this murk?”

“Like them,” Rumble said, pointing to the Insecticons as they gnawed on the wooden backs of some nearby chairs. The occupants of the chairs stared with appalled expressions on their faces.

“Cease,” Soundwave ordered the three upon noticing the behavior. A man finally came over to them and asked about their reservation. Soundwave explained which party they were, and the man led them off into the darkness. As they passed, people muttered and pointed at them.

“They’re impressed at my kills,” Skywarp whispered jokingly to Thundercracker.

“I think it’s your fangs, ‘Warp,” Thundercracker whispered back. They were seated at tables with little cards which had their aliases written on them. However, after some card switching everyone was sitting where they wanted to be, with none the wiser. Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Reflector were all together at one table.

In the center of the table, a lone candle flickered, while a single red flower sat in a glass vase. There were also shakers full of salt and pepper, and a few small books with the word ‘Menu’ written on them in loopy French letters. Rumble and Frenzy went around at Soundwave’s behest, explaining what to do with the menu. The Insecticons had already decided what to do with theirs, and had to borrow new ones from a nearby unoccupied table (it had become unoccupied shortly after the Decepticons had occupied the ones around it, for some reason).

Since none of the Decepticons had any idea what the foods described by the menu actually were, (and since only Swindle could read French anyway) they just ordered at random. Skywarp picked out his meal based on the euphonious sound of its name, while Thundercracker based his decision on the height of the dollar amount next to the food. Reflector covered his eyes and placed a finger on the menu at random to decide. The Insecticons simply ordered one of everything. Then they waited. And waited. And waited…

 

By the time ten minutes had passed, the Insecticons had finished off their new menus, the flower, and the salt (the pepper was too hot), and went to work on the candle. Thundercracker did remember having eaten part of a candle they’d found in a cupboard during the feeding frenzy, but refrained from snacking on it now because his teeth had felt funny afterwards--not to mention, it was their only light source. Reflector did try a few of the petals off of the flower, and then quickly finished the whole red part. The stem took a little longer, since it had occasional thorns on it, but they weren’t very hard for the spy to chew around. Skywarp drank the water in the vase, which Thundercracker later regretted letting him do because after he finally got the cap off of the salt shaker and ate the white crystals inside of it, he was quite thirsty. It was one of the odder things Thundercracker had tasted as a human, very strong… He went over to Soundwave’s table and asked to borrow their water. Soundwave acquiesed, so Thundercracker removed the flower, drank the water, put the flower back neatly inside and headed back to his table. 

The restaurant was a quiet place, and it didn’t seem polite to talk loudly, but certain Decepticons had no sense of etiquette. The Combaticons laughed loudly as they attempted to dunk Blast Off’s tongue in the open pepper shaker, without success. Finally they settled for taking everybody else’s salt and pepper shakers and shaking the condiments at each other, hiding behind their chairs for cover. Soundwave called it to a close. Three minutes passed. Rumble and Frenzy started arguing about who had more tablecloth. As they pulled it back and forth, the vase fell over (well, flew away) and smashed onto the floor, throwing glass everywhere in a glorious little explosion. The Combaticons decided to join the fun and started their own tug of war, while the Insecticons stole the Combaticon vase, ate the flower, and drank the water in it before the Combaticons were able to retrieve it. Soundwave called it to a halt. Waiters came to move Soundwave, Rumble, and Frenzy to a different table away from the glass. Soundwave confiscated the remaining intact vases and put them on an unoccupied table. Five minutes passed. The Combaticons started throwing the salt and pepper shakers at each other. Soundwave confiscated all salt and pepper shakers and put them on an unoccupied table. One minute passed. The Combaticons began fighting with the remaining menus. Soundwave confiscated all remaining menus and put them on an unoccupied table. 30 seconds passed. The Combaticons twisted several tablecloths into whips, took cover behind opposing tables, then besieged each others’ positions. Soundwave sent the Combaticons to separate, newly unoccupied tables. Seven minutes passed. Ramjet realized he had forgotten to give the pen he had borrowed for revenge purposes back to the taxi driver and began to draw a t’zan board on the rumpled white tablecloth to have a friendly game with Thrust, Astrotrain, and Blitzwing, who were sharing the table. Eight minutes passed. Soundwave reaffirmed that Decepticons can not be sold into slavery to other Decepticons simply because they are in the same triad and the bettor has overextended himself. One minute passed. Sore losers settled on hand-to-hand combat to decide whether teleporting is a legal move under classic t’zan rules. 20 seconds passed. Soundwave called the friendly t’zan game to an end. Two minutes passed. Ramjet decided that his table companions could stand some redecoration. 30 seconds passed. Soundwave confiscated the pen and placed it on an unoccupied table. The Combaticons began to complain loudly of boredom. Six minutes passed. The Insecticons finally managed to get a tear started in their tough tablecloth and quickly devoured it. Five minutes passed. Mixmaster lit the Constructicon tablecloth on fire with a candle. Hook extinguished the fire with the vase of water. The Insecticons were inspired and quickly burnt a tear in another tablecloth, then ripped it up into strips for consumption. General pyromania ensued. Five minutes passed. The Constructicons were able to deactivate the sprinkler system. Soundwave confiscated all remaining tablecloths and candles and put them on an unoccupied table. Complaints about the dark ensued. Three minutes passed. Unknown assailants dragged Thundercracker and Skywarp screaming across the room and dumped water from one of the vases on the unoccupied table on them. Assailants were subsequently identified as Ramjet and Thrust. The assailants were forced to eat several handfuls of pepper as punishment. Thundercracker and Skywarp were successfully dried off with tablecloths. Four minutes passed. The Combaticons threw chairs at each other from across the room. Soundwave confiscated the Combaticon chairs and put them in an unoccupied area. One minute passed. The Combaticons attempted to throw tables at one another, but were unable to achieve sufficient distance. Soundwave confiscated the Combaticon tables and had them moved to an unoccupied area. Two minutes passed. Brawl began to sing the Marching Song. Various Decepticons bound and gagged him with the tablecloths. Soundwave threatened to do likewise to the next person who caused trouble. Ten minutes passed. Soundwave used up the last of the tablecloths. Chaos ensued. One minute passed. The Decepticons were returned to order by the heavy use of pepper. The last of the water in the vases was consumed. Three minutes passed. The Constructicons began building an edifice with the extra tables and chairs. Four minutes passed. All building materials were used up. Other materials were acquired. Five minutes passed. Various Decepticons began to complain of tiredness after holding the edifice up. Scrapper cracked his tablecloth whip and the complaining ceased. Five minutes passed. Edifice collapsed, causing several injuries. Soundwave demonstrated how to make a sling with a tablecloth. Four minutes passed. An attempt was made to return the room to normal before the food came. 

Approximately one hour and thirty minutes after they had made their orders, the food arrived.

“It’s about time, time!” Shrapnel said impatiently.

“Bad service!” Bombshell agreed.

“No tip!” Kickback growled. The waiters placed their first course on the table and the Insecticons attacked it with savage voracity. Soundwave promptly confiscated the knives from the Combaticons.

“Well, what do _you_ think it is?” Skywarp asked, prodding the green mass on his plate with his knife. It didn’t move. It wasn’t alive, anyway. 

“It’s a green mass,” Thundercracker said after careful consideration. “But I would quit poking it or it might get angry.”

“Oh Kickback!” Skywarp sang. “Would you like some free food?” The green mass was quickly taken care of. Skywarp looked at the rest of the food on his plate, poking it comically to make sure that it too was dead. Reflector carefully chewed something yellow and grainy. Thundercracker looked down at his plate and wondered what to eat first. There was the reddish goop piled on top of vegetation, the slab of semi-raw meat, the mushy purple substance, or the brown, crunchy-looking stuff. He went for the slab of meat, since it was the most normal-looking thing he could find. Candle light reflected off of his knife and fork as he carefully applied each instrument to remove pieces of meat and ferry them to his mouth. The Insecticons, of course, were using their hands to shovel food straight from the plate into their mouths, then licking their almost-clean plates until they were spotless. Thundercracker, however, did not believe that that was typical human feeding behavior, so he stuck to the eating utensils (though he didn’t know which fork to use).

It was about halfway through the meal that a sticky ball of food hit Skywarp in the back of the head. Quickly they looked around for the culprit, but everybody was eating casually. Still, from the trajectory it was fairly easy to tell where the ball had come from: Ramjet and Thrust’s table, of course. The two coneheads, plus Astrotrain, were sitting mere feet away from them, with Ramjet himself chair-back to chair-back with Skywarp. Skywarp gave Thundercracker a wink, then took the bottle of wine, filled his goblet up to the top, and leaned back in his chair to put his feet comfortably up on the table. He then gracefully emptied the glass over his shoulder—all over Ramjet. Ramjet continued eating as if nothing had happened. Skywarp scootched his chair over to the far side of the table to prevent a counterattack. Which gave Blitzwing the perfect opportunity to dump something warm and slimy down the back of Skywarp’s shirt as he strolled past. Skywarp stifled an exclamation and continued eating as usual. Reflector promptly and wisely left the table. 

“So Blitzwing’s on their side too now,” Skywarp hissed under his breath to Thundercracker. “What’s that purple stuff on your plate?”

“Do you really expect me to know?”   
“No. Okay, hide that under the table. We’ll need it for later. Now let’s get some napkins.” The two got up (there was safety in numbers) to find napkins. 

 

A few tables over, the Constructicons mourned Dragstrip’s uselessness as a support beam.

“We should have put Brawl there instead,” Hook grumbled.

“That’s what I said,” Scrapper said. Bonecrusher carefully cut up his steak into cubes and then arranged them in a pyramid.

“Hey look, the Food Pyramid!” he pointed, laughing at his own joke.

“Ha ha ha,” Long Haul said, stuffing a bite of something grey with green things in it into his mouth.

“Look what I got,” Scavenger said, holding up a tiny, neat little white cube which appeared to be made out of salt. There were a few of them stacked up on his plate.

“They look look like like little m-miniature energon cubes,” Mixmaster observed. Scavenger cautiously licked one (he had heard Thundercracker’s description of salt and wasn’t sure he’d like it), then looked down at the cube with new interest. He licked it again, harder this time, and then popped it in his mouth and crunched it up.

“These are great!” he reported enthusiastically, cutting the remaining three cubes in half with his knife and handing them to his teammates. The other Constructicons licked theirs, then put them in their mouths and crunched them up with expressions of pleasant surprise. Bonecrusher promptly redisassembled their salt shaker and took a deep chug. He instantly spit it back out across the table and snatched Scavenger’s cup of steaming brown liquid, taking a gulp of that and then spewing it too out across the table. He then settled for sucking air in and out of his mouth like a fish dying on the elevator platform of the underwater base. Scavenger decided to pour his coffee into the flower vase and forget about drinking it.

 

Meanwhile, Spike and Sparkplug had picked an unfortunate time and place to enjoy a Father’s Day meal. When the receptionist (a pale, twitchy sort of fellow) finally got around to seating them, he explained that the tables in the other half of the restaurant were all being used by other patrons and regretfully, they would have to be seated in the smoking area.

“It sure smells smoky,” Spike said, sniffing the air as they were led in.

“Not much like cigarette smoke though,” Sparkplug observed. The waiter motioned them to a table next to the door, far away from the thirty or so other diners who were seated across at the other end of the long room. Candles twinkled in the dark, providing soft illumination to the setting. Low music played soothingly through hidden speakers. Spike and Sparkplug were surprised to find that the tablecloth and chairs were somewhat damp, but they determined that they weren’t going to let their meal be spoiled by a little water, so they ordered.

They sat back in their seats and chatted for awhile about the dampness, the funny smell in the air, and anything else that came to mind as they waited in extreme boredom for their meal to come. Then something strange happened. Two people walked by who were completely covered with tattoos, one of them walking with an oddly bent back and one of them limping slightly. Spike and Sparkplug stared at them as they passed by on their way over to the rest of the diners. A slight, funny odor wafted by as they passed, a mixture of scents which was quite unpleasant. One of them seemed to be chlorine, but the others were untraceable.

“What are they?” Spike whispered. Sparkplug shook his head as he watched the two sit down at a table and begin to work on their meal.

“I have no idea.” A clanging sound from another table attracted the two real humans and they turned in their seats to look. Two men were thrusting at each other with forks.

“Ha! Taste cold… Uh… Aluminum do you think?” The two combatants paused and stared down at their forks. One attempted to bend his, then turned to look at the men of a different table.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel quite right,” one of them said, bending his own utensil. A fellow father (or so Sparkplug presumed, since he had two children with him) stood up and took the two forks, and all the other forks that were at that particular table, and went back to his place.

“Aw, come on! They were being careful!” one of the seated men protested.

“If that’s what they call careful…” Spike whispered to Sparkplug.

“Just remember what you look like inside,” one of the men from the other table said. “And we’re not repairing you either.” Abruptly another man began to throw up. The people sharing the table with him grabbed their plates and moved. Now that they had noticed their fellow diners, Sparkplug and Spike couldn’t help but watch, engrossed and horrified all at the same time. The men who had been fighting with forks (and several others besides them) began to throw food and spoons at each other, and the father came over again with two pepper shakers in his hands and said,

“Cease fighting, or face consequences.” The father's voice was completely expressionless. “Now eat.” The men reluctantly put down the clods of food and spoons they had been about to throw and began to eat with horrible table manners.

“Look at that!” Sparkplug pointed inconspicuously. Several of the men at a different table were now roasting food over their candle. He could hear one say,

“This stinks! Let’s find something combustible!”

“I-I suggest th-this stuff,” another replied with a weird grin. He held up his glass of wine. Sparkplug winced.

“Great idea. Let me get something to sustain the reaction,” the first man said, then got up and left. Sparkplug’s attention was drawn to a group of men with ragged clothes who were eating faster than he’d ever seen anyone eat before. They were simply stuffing their mouths full of food, scooping food off the plate with their hands and stuffing it into their open maws greedily. They hardly seemed to chew at all before swallowing and licking their plates clean—and Sparkplug had to admit there was a certain rhythmic grace to it... Nor did they stop to open packaging—they just stuffed tea bags and wrappers straight into their mouths. Plates of food were stacked up next to them on several carts. 

“Huh, I think these guys got shot with the Decepticon insanity ray thing,” Spike whispered to him jestingly.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” Sparkplug agreed with a grin. “Hard to believe there are normal people like this. I don’t see why the restaurant is letting them get away with this stuff.” The man who had been roasting food on his candle came back hauling a large decorative plant. The others helped him break it into pieces and they set it on the white table cloth, getting dirt all over it and the food.

“Anybody got any flowers left?” one of the men called to the rest of the diners. There were general murmurs to the negative. The stuttering man who’d had the silly grin on his face went around and took several bottles of wine from the other diners (evidently they were a group) and then tried to take the bottle from the three men who were engorging themselves with their hands. The three jumped at him and began biting his clothing. Sparkplug and Spike both recoiled in appalled astonishment.

“H-Heeeelp!” the man cried, and Spike and Sparkplug (trained after years of hanging out with the Autobots) leapt to their feet to help. But before they could move, the no-longer-sillily-grinning man’s table friends rushed over and began to clobber the three biters.

“We can’t just stand here!” Spike said as he and Sparkplug watched.

“Get the Auto—I mean, the management!” Sparkplug exclaimed quickly. But before Spike could leave the room, the father came up and separated the two parties brusquely, handing the bottle of wine (most of which had been spilled by this time) back to its original owners. The other men gathered up the remaining wine bottles and poured them over the tropical plant, then stood back as one of them touched the candle to the mass. WHOOOMF!!! It went up in flames. Sparkplug and Spike, now too shocked to think of calling the management, continued to stare in paralyzed horror.

“Great idea! Now we can actually see!” someone said enthusiastically as the bonfire leapt up toward the ceiling.

“I want one!”

“Where did you find that plant at?”

“Extinguish flames,” the father said calmly.

“We don’t have any water left,” another man noted, holding up a vase.

“Don’t worry, we can smother it,” someone said. That someone yanked the tablecloth off of the table, sending the remains of the plant rolling off onto the ground in miniature fireballs.

“Hey, why don’t you start those rain thingies?” someone else said as people put tablecloths over the flames in an attempt to quell them.

“Now that’s an idea!” a man said. “Come on!” Quickly five other men jumped up from where they were smothering the various fires with tablecloths and together went running around, seizing the chairs of the other people without heed to the fact that other people might be using them. They quickly and efficiently stacked the chairs up as though they had rehearsed it, then pulled the panels off the ceiling and began tinkering with the stuff inside. Shortly afterwards, the sprinklers came on. And they reaaaaally came on. 

“I improved their efficiency substantially,” the man said in a pleased voice as the water gushed from the ceiling.

“Start the pumps!” someone shouted.

“Fill up the vases!” someone else called.

“Aw, I’m wet again…” one of the tattooed men whined loudly.

“That’s nothing compared to how wet you’re gonna be when we get back…” another tattooed man said in a threatening voice. It was difficult to see, but by the light of the slowly extinguishing plant parts Sparkplug could almost believe that the man had a picture of Optimus Prime on his cheek. The cold water snapped both Spike and Sparkplug to their senses, and Sparkplug leaned over and said,

“I’m going to go call the management.”

“I’ll stay here and make sure they don’t burn the restaurant down,” Spike said. Sparkplug nodded, not even thinking twice about the danger of leaving Spike alone with almost thirty nutcases. After all the times he had let Spike run around with Bumblebee to help the Autobots fight the Decepticons, a few human weirdos were nothing.

Spike stared through the sprinkler downpour as the men quickly kicked one of the burning plant parts under a table, shouting about how the candles were going out. As the fires were extinguished, the room was plunged into almost total darkness. Immediately he began to hear splattering sounds and muffled exclamations from off to the side.

“Disengage sprinklers,” he could hear the father say calmly but loudly. There were some creaking and clanking noises from the ceiling area. The sprinklers redoubled their efforts.

“Aaaugh!” someone yelled.

“Take shelter before we drown!” someone else shouted.

“Much better!” someone else said in a gleeful voice. Several of the men crawled under the tables and shouted unintelligible advice. Liking the idea of getting out of from the gushing shower, Spike jumped under his table to watch from relative dryness. Finally, the sprinklers died again and he climbed cautiously back out. Someone skewered the sole remaining burning plant part on a carving knife and went around relighting the candles. Spike then noticed that the tattooed men (and one other guy as well) were hurriedly wiping large amounts of food off of themselves which had not been there before the lights had gone out. All of the men were now drenched and dripping water, and all the plates were filled with collected water. The food-covered tattooed men started splashing each other with it.

“Cease,” the father ordered. “Continue eating.” The men reluctantly sat down again and began to eat their soggy food. Spike noticed that the three biters had continued eating in spite of the torrential sprinkling, and were still busily engaged in it. At that moment Sparkplug returned.

“No luck son,” he said. “The manager claims one of these guys is the owner of the restaurant chain and they don’t want to make him mad.”

“Wonder which one that is,” Spike said, unable to believe that any of the men was capable of such a responsibility. The whole scene was just too weird for words.

“Let’s just think of it as a bit of pre-meal entertainment,” Sparkplug said, sitting down on one of the drenched seats. “How’d it get so wet in here?”

“They tampered with the sprinkler systems.”

“Think you could turn up the music?” one of the children called loudly.

“Of course we can,” one of the men said, motioning his companions to their feet. The six rose together and headed towards a speaker panel embedded in the wall. Meanwhile, a spoon fight broke out at the table where they had been fighting with forks earlier. The father came over with the pepper shakers again and disassembled the units, then dumped small piles of red pepper on each plate.

“Eat,” he ordered. “Undiluted.” To Spike and Sparkplug’s amazement, the men dug in with their spoons, choking, gagging, and crying, but actually consuming the pepper. They then flew around the room sucking the water out of the various dishes in which the liquid from the sprinkler system had accumulated.

“The water is coming out of their eyes!” someone shouted in a mixture of revulsion and horror. Two men began to vomit immediately. Several people spat out the water they had been drinking.

“All humans do that!” someone else shouted. “It’s normal!”

“What does he mean, ‘all humans do that?’” Spike asked Sparkplug.

“I dunno,” Sparkplug replied puzzledly. “These guys are bona-fide lulus.” He twirled his finger next to his ear. As if on cue the relaxing background music began blasting at a volume that rattled the silverware and vibrated the glass vases dangerously with each violin shriek.

“TURN IT DOWN!!!” several people screamed as everyone within a ten mile radius clamped their hands over their ears.

“What?” the men tampering with the speakers in the wall panel appeared to shout. Sparkplug could only discern his lips moving over the sound of the piano pounding. The father jumped up and rushed across the room, tinkering rapidly with the guts of the speaker. Finally, it shut off and quiet enveloped the room.

“Can we go back now?” someone asked into the silence in a plaintitive voice.

“After full re-energization has occurred,” the father intoned calmly, returning to his table.

“Sheesh, he sounds like Soundwave,” Spike observed, a little too loudly since his hearing was shot after a few seconds of the music.

“He does, doesn’t he,” Sparkplug said just as loudly. One of the men at the table closest to them suddenly looked up and turned to glance back at them. As they made eye contact the other man froze. He made some stammering noises and reached over and grabbed the head of the person next to him, turning it so that it too pointed at them. The other person’s eyes got wide.

“It’s—It’s those little—!” More heads turned as the person said that, and expressions of shock and alarm spread across the room like wildfire. Suddenly most of the men were holding spoons and knives in a nonreassuring manner.

“I guess this is the downside of hanging out with the Autobots,” Sparkplug muttered to Spike, since the two were getting fairly well known after their various TV appearances with the Autobots.

“Silence,” the Soundwave-like father said. “Collect food and prepare to retreat.” With amazing swiftness and organization, the men dumped food into their shirts and jackets and hurried out of the room, staring at them as they passed with expressions ranging from wariness to belligerent glares. The final three were reluctant to leave the remaining food, but they too were dragged out kicking, screaming, and pulling at the tablecloths and furniture. 

“Wonder what that was all about,” Spike said aloud into the now oddly silent room. Water drenched the carpet, while all the decorations were scattered about the room in a chaotic matter. Food spattered most surfaces, while a burning plant part still smoked on the floor.

“I guess they just didn’t like us for some reason,” Sparkplug speculated. The two sat there and silently wondered why.

 

“Stupid Autobots! They spoil everything!” Rumble complained as they headed out into the parking lot with their shirts full of stored food. Swindle, (having paid the bill and the damages) dialed up some taxis on his cell phone.

“You can’t even step outside without meeting an Autobot!” Astrotrain agreed angrily.

“Maintain normality,” Soundwave ordered, reminding everyone that there could be more Autobots in the area. The Decepticons nervously glanced around the parking lot, but saw neither the characteristic yellow volkswagen that the humans rode around in nor any other Autobots.

“How long do you think they were watching us?” Reflector asked. Hearing his lone voice without the usual stereo effect was quite peculiar.

“I seem to recall a shadowy pair in the corner earlier,” Skywarp said slowly. “Right around the time of the fork fight, I think.”

“I don’t remember anyone saying any obvious giveaways,” Reflector said after some thought. “I don’t think they would have stayed with us that long if they had known who we were."

“I suppose,” Thundercracker agreed.

“I still can’t believe you couldn’t tell what they were made of,” Hook said to Scavenger, referring to the forks. Scavenger shrugged unhappily.

“Sorry. Without my… usual senses, I can only rely on color, flexibility, and other characteristics like that.”

“Does this mean we can’t come here for breakfast tomorrow?” Frenzy asked Soundwave somewhat disappointedly.

“Affirmative,” Soundwave said. Mentally, he made a note never, ever, to allow the Decepticons into a restaurant ever again.   
“We were having a pretty good time after the food got here,” Dragstrip said in a satisfied tone, beginning to munch the food he held in his shirt. 

“My ears are still making that funny noise,” Blast Off complained, tapping them lightly with his fingers.

“Mine too.”

“Same here.” General affirmations rose from the group.

“It will subside,” Soundwave informed them. “Finish food consumption.” The Decepticons sat down on the asphalt parking lot to facilitate eating from their shirts.

“I forgot the pen!” Ramjet suddenly realized. “I’ve got to go back in and get it.” He dumped the contents of his shirt into Thrust’s lap and headed back in. Skywarp and Thundercracker exchanged suspicious glances as they wiped the food out of each others’ audio sensor cups. Thrust attempted to comb purple sludge out of his hair. 

“How much of your food did you guys actually eat?” Vortex asked as he looked them over.

“Half?” Thundercracker guessed. “There was a lot of it.” He winced as Skywarp extracted several small yellow things from his audio cavity. “We sure didn’t need it all.”

“We could have used more of that purple stuff though,” Skywarp said, a satisfied smile breaking out on his face.

“We could have used more of that brown stuff,” Thrust remarked. Skywarp’s back arched unconsciously as he felt the slimy, clingy brown stuff still plastering his shirt to his skin.

“Sleep well tonight,” Thundercracker said to Thrust in a pleasant voice.

“Oh, I will,” Thrust replied agreeably. “You do likewise.”

“Nuts, I can't get these out," Skywarp complained, peering into Thundercracker's audio cavity. "Put your head sideways,” he requested, and when Thundercracker complied he proceeded to bang on upturned the side of his head.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Thundercracker protested.

“I’m trying to knock out some of the yellow things. They’re really stuck in here deep.”

“Did you have to?” Thundercracker complained to Thrust.

“I didn’t know they would get stuck,” Thrust shrugged apologetically.

“Okay, Skywarp. I don’t think they’re coming out,” Thundercracker said as Skywarp continued to pound. He straightened and shook his head. “Ow.”

“Try this,” Ramjet appeared behind them, handing the pen to Skywarp.

“Okay, maybe you should lay down for this,” Skywarp said, squinting into Thundercracker’s darkened ear hole. Thundercracker acquiesed and lay on his side, and Skywarp began poking around inside his audio sensor cavity with the writing utensil. Ramjet, Thrust, and Vortex watched over his shoulder.

“I think it’s going in deeper,” Thrust observed.

“Oww!” Thundercracker protested. “Don’t push!”

“I’m trying to get the tip behind the yellow thing, then maybe I can hook it and get it out from the back—”

“Ow!” Thundercracker reached up and quickly pushed Skywarp’s probing hand away from his audio sensor.

“Don’t be a sissy!” Ramjet said impatiently. By now several other Decepticons had wandered over to watch the spectacle with fascinated revulsion. Some poor weak-stomached soul could be heard throwing up in the background.

“Why don’t you try turning the yellow thing around?” Astrotrain suggested.

“It’s too tight,” Skywarp answered tersely, not appreciating the audience.

“Maybe if you—”

“Soundwave!” Thundercracker called urgently for expert assistance before the situation got out of control. Soundwave walked over and examined the situation. He took the pen from Skywarp and ordered,

“Be still.” He then proceeded jab around inside Thundercracker’s inner audio sensor in a most unnerving manner.

“What are you trying to do?” Thundercracker asked, attempting to keep the nervousness out of his voice. 

“Mashing yellow thing,” Soundwave replied succinctly. He pocketed the pen and stood up. “Water will remove the remainder.” Thundercracker sat up and gently poked the inside of his ear. He could feel something mushy and wet still in it.

“Ugh,” he said aloud. “No more audio stuffing, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Ramjet and Thrust said together.

“Hey, where’d the pen go?”

By the time the taxis came, most of the food had been finished up. The remainder was given to the Insecticons, who by now had finished everything on the plates which had been brought along on the tablecloth that they had dragged out with them. They folded up the tablecloth itself to save for later, and then began feeding with apparent hunger upon the new scraps they had been thrown.

The trip back was long and boring, and some of the Decepticons fell asleep, but most of them were still energized after the food and entertainment and were able to provide much amusement for the taxi drivers during the three hour long traffic jam they waited through. In the first car in the seven car string, Soundwave dearly regretted not having the foresight to bring the pepper shakers with them, but at least by locking the doors of the taxis the Decepticons were prevented from escaping and doing significant damage to anything outside the vehicles.

“Let’s play a game,” The taxi driver said to Rumble and Frenzy as they clambered around the interior like squirrels.

“What sorta game?” Frenzy asked, as he burrowed under the seat cover on the front seat.

“The alphabet game. You try to find all the letters of the alphabet on the signs outside the car. You know the alphabet right?”

“Of course,” Rumble said. “What’s this thing?” He pointed up at the ceiling light.

“It’s a dangerous electrical device which will fry you in ten seconds flat if you touch it,” the driver replied, looking at Soundwave pleadingly.

“It’s a light,” Soundwave said. As a communicator, he had little patience for lies. The driver grumbled angrily as Frenzy popped out of the bottom of the seat cover to see what Rumble had found. Moth-like attraction ensued as they figured out how to work the light and then fought over which setting it should be on. Finally the light ceased functioning.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” the driver threatened. Soundwave pulled out several hundred dollar bills from his pocket and handed them to the driver.

“Sufficient?” he asked. The driver looked back at him, a somewhat stunned expression on his face. It quickly disappeared.

“No way! You know how much those things cost?” Soundwave pulled out a few more and handed them to the driver.

“Yeah, that’s more like it,” the man said, a smile breaking out on his face as he stuffed the wad of bills into his back pocket. After playing with the dead switch awhile longer, the two cassettes lost interest. Rumble climbed up onto the top of the passenger’s side chair and perched there like Laserbeak. Frenzy opted to climb all over Soundwave, who endured it with his typical patience. Reflector simply stared out the window, occasionally sighing as the two cassettes climbed over or under him or braided his head fur into chains. Slowly the car inched along. 

 

The next car back was the Insecticon taxi. All three were now tearing the tablecloth into strips for an afterdinner snack.

“You say you come from Bali?” the driver said, eyeing them suspiciously and making a mental note never, ever to visit that particular country.

“Oh yes,” Bombshell said, nibbling a small strip. Shrapnel licked the back of the passenger’s seat experimentally. “We lived there for quite awhile.”

“I see,” the driver said. Kickback, attempting to see if the loose & tasty-looking piece of grey plastic would come off, accidentally opened the glove compartment. Fresh saliva began to fill his mouth as he stared at the delicious-looking paper documents inside.

“Shut that back up please,” the driver requested. Kickback took out a good handful of the documents, and shut the compartment again. Before the driver could even open his mouth to explain that he had not meant for Kickback to remove the documents before shutting the compartment, Kickback had already finished the vehicle registration and was ripping up the proof of insurance for easier chewing. Bali’s reputation was not enhanced that day.

 

In car number three Motormaster, Dragstrip, and Blast Off, separated by the precious extra seat space in the back seat, snoozed while the driver was left to speculate on what the ‘vvoooooooom’ noises they were making in their sleep meant. It was probably good that he didn’t know.

 

There wasn’t much to do in the Combaticon car but listen to Swindle prattle into his cell phone, so the Combaticons decided to have one of their friendly little training sessions. Fortunately, before they could guilloutine Vortex with the power window, Soundwave managed to get through to Swindle and told them in no uncertain terms what would happen if they did not sit silently in their seats and refrain from physical contact with each other and the driver. (An exception was made for Swindle to continue talking, since he was busy attending a teleconference with some people in Washington D.C.) And, since there was nothing else to do but listen to him chatter on and on about interest rates and the federal reserve, the rest of the Combaticons quickly deactivated from sheer boredom.

 

After they had used up most of the slime clinging to Skywarp’s back, the excess food in everyone’s hair, and everything else they could lay their hands on with which to draw on the windows with, the jetwarriors got bored.

“It’s too hot in here,” Thrust complained. “Can’t we open a window?”

“No,” the driver said. After a short while, he had achieved a Soundwavesque brevity and spoke in tense, clipped phases.

“Not even a little?” Skywarp asked in his most persuasive voice.

“No,” the driver snapped. Thundercracker fanned his shirt and slouched down in his seat. Traffic crawled by occasionally. Most of the time it didn’t move at all. Since the doors were locked, they couldn’t even get out to walk.

“I wish we had a pen,” Skywarp said wistfully.

“Put your upper lip over your lower lip,” Thundercracker requested, looking up at his friend from where he was slouched. Skywarp obliged him. Thundercracker got a little laugh out of the sight of the fangs.

“You know what I should have written on your forehead?” Skywarp said reflectively, a smile appearing on his face at the thought. “‘Squish Me!’ In big, big letters.”

“Thank you,” Thundercracker replied ironically. “I’d much rather be crushed than shot, now that I think of it.”

“Did I tell you the one about the F-15 pilots with the really big mouths?” Ramjet said from the front seat.

“Did I tell you how I got this kill?” Skywarp asked in reply, pointing to one of the better drawn aircraft on his arm which bore a vague resemblance to Ramjet in jet mode, if you looked at it right, and the light wasn’t too good.

“If I say yes, I don’t have to hear it, right?” Ramjet sighed.

“No, you have to hear it either way.”

“If I don’t tell the story about the F-15 pilots, then how about you don’t tell me how you shot down that little black blob,” Ramjet said.

“Black blob!” Skywarp protested. “That, my friend, is art!”

“Drawing on skin is harder than you’d think,” Thundercracker agreed, since he’d drawn it.

“Art—Ha! This is art,” Thrust pointed at the Cybertron landscape he had done on the window in half-dried brown slime.

“Abstract?” Skywarp said quickly.

“I think he’s jealous of your superior talent, Thrust,” Ramjet said with a half-smile at Skywarp’s expense.

“Jealous!? Ha!” Thundercracker exploded from his slouched position. “How do you guys do your paint jobs, with brooms? I’d need a calculatron to count the missed spots you guys walk around with! Don’t even get me started on the runs.”

“Well, we don’t have you-know-who in our group,” Thrust smirked. “So we can away with casual paint jobs.”

“Sloppy paint jobs, you mean. The Auto… err… other team probably thinks we have a paint shortage or something.”

“After that *ahem* ‘little’ paint fight you guys had earlier, we did,” Ramjet reminded them. Thrust turned back to his opus and began scratching the now-dry brown slime off to add lights and texture to his landscape. The other jetwarriors took note of the opportunity to improve upon their creations, and began to pick at their window drawings. The car was silent, except for the scratch, scratch, scratch of fingernails scraping on windows…

 

“A nervous breakdown? Isn’t that what happens to machinery? What does it have to do with anxiety?” Scavenger asked in confusion, wondering how all of it related to Breakdown’s name and character. The driver gave a laugh which reminded them of Mixmaster’s, and then replied.

“A nervous breakdown is when something— _or someones_ —(the words seemed heavily emphasized to Scavenger, though he didn’t know what that was supposed to imply)—cause a certain person to LOSE IT!” 

“Lose what?” Scavenger asked, more clueless than ever.

“HIS MIND!!!” the driver screamed.

“O-oh,” Scavenger said in sudden comprehension. “And how exactly does this something or someone cause a certain person to lose his mind?”

“Well, let’s see,” the driver began in a cutting voice. “First there’s the tapping and the humming, then there’s the singing of “the Marching Song,” the disassembly of the window power mechanism, the light, the radio, the dashboard, the stereo, the seat mechanism, the making of origami with the very important papers in the glove compartment, and oh, yes, how could I forget, the QUESTIONS?!?”

“That’s exactly what we’ve been doing!” Scavenger said in surprised realization. “Are we going to have nervous breakdowns?” The driver simply pounded his head on the steering wheel and sobbed. “Is that a nervous breakdown?” Scavenger asked.

“Never mind,” the man muttered. “Never mind…”

“Hand me the long thin piece of metal,” Scrapper requested from where he was laying on the floor on the right side of the car. They had just managed to get the passenger seat out so that he could easily access the wiring under the glove compartment. Scavenger wasn’t sure what exactly they were planning to do with the car, but it was certainly more interesting than staring out the window. All he knew was that Scrapper heard a dripping noise, and that the noise hadn’t been in the other cars they had been in. Ergo, something must be broken. Bonecrusher passed Scrapper the long thin piece of metal (which they had extracted from the window power mechanism) and clinking noises came came where he was half hidden under the dashboard. The car made a funny noise and then sputtered and stopped making noise altogether. Fortunately the traffic wasn’t moving anyway.

“There we go!” Scrapper said. “Now I can take a look at what’s making that dripping noise. Take these parts.” A grease-stained hand popped out from under the dashboard with a collection of little greasy nuts and bolts. Scavenger, who was in charge of holding onto all parts, took them and carefully arranged them on the passenger side chair which was sitting on the floor. “Have you made the power transfer cables yet?” Scrapper called in a muffled voice.

“Almost,” Mixmaster replied as he tangled with the wiring they had scavenged from the stereo. “Don’t t-t-touch the places where the wires are b-bare once you’ve plugged it in.” He touched the bare parts of two twisted-together wires to the glowing red part of the window power mechanism while Bonecrusher touched a hardened droplet of their precious collection of sauter onto the hot wires with a screw. The sauter liquified quickly, dribbling onto the entwined wires to seal the connection. Scavenger inhaled the fumes deeply, enjoying the familiar scent of metal. “All done!” Mixmaster said cheerfully, blowing on the newly connected wires until they were cool. He handed them to Bonecrusher, who passed them down to Scrapper. There were some scraping noises and Scrapper pounded something underneath the dashboard. He pulled himself deeper inside.

“Ah ha!” he suddenly said triumphantly. “The leak! I think it’s... I can’t quite tell in this light.” He clumsily pulled himself out and looked at what he had on his fingers. “Actually, I’m not sure. What do you think?” He held his fingers out to Mixmaster, who examined the liquid, touched it, smelled it, and tasted it.

“It’s um… Uh… Uh… Some-something like what you u-use on the windows of the… the base.” 

“Windshield wiper fluid!” the driver screamed at them. He seemed to be a rather stressed-out fellow, easily excitable. He didn’t seem to like his job much either.

“Thanks. That helps,” Scavenger said, trying to make him feel better. The man put his head back on the steering wheel and was silent, taking deep breaths. Perhaps he too liked the smell of sauter, thought Scavenger--although it had mostly diluted out of the open windows by now.

“I need something to catch the windshield wiper fluid in while I drain it out,” Scrapper said. “Find a pan to put it in.”

“Perhaps if we rip the siding off the exterior of the vehicle, we can reshape it into a bowl,” Bonecrusher suggested.

“Perfect. You see about that. The rest of you, we need a patch for a tube about 35 dicrons in diameter. Ask Hook if he can spare part of his ceiling light. We’re going to need more of those washers.” While Bonecrusher climbed out the window and over the windshield to the hood (it looked nice and flat and easy to remove), Scavenger leaned out the window and yelled back to Hook’s car, which was right behind them:

“Hey! Do you guys have the washer from your ceiling light?” Long Haul stuck his head out the window and shouted back,

“What did you say?”

“Do you still have the washer from the ceiling light?”

“That one and some others too. What size do you want?”

“35 dicrons,” Scavenger shouted.

“Yeah. Hold on a moment.” Long Haul disappeared momentarily. “Blitzwing, we told you to hold that steady!” Scavenger heard him complaining, but seconds later Long Haul climbed out of his open window (door lock? Ha!) and after a series of gymnastics, got onto the roof and slid down onto the hood, then jumped to the back bumper of Scavenger’s taxi and handed him the washer. “Hey, what have you got going on here?” Long Haul asked, peering around from the side to try and see what they were doing.

“We’re trying to patch a windshield wiper fluid leak on an approximately 35 dicron tube,” Scavenger replied. “Want to help?”

“Of course!” Long Haul said, enthused. “We just ran out of stuff to take apart. Let me go get Hook and we’ll be right over.” He jumped back to the other car and climbed back inside. The driver moaned something about maximum occupancy, but Scavenger reassured him that those kind of specifications were exaggerated on purpose and no harm would come of a temporary overload.

“In fact, we might even be able to increase the maximum occupancy of your car when we’re done patching this leak. Would you like that?” Scavenger offered.

“No problem,” Scrapper nodded. The man just slammed his head on the steering wheel repeatedly and muttered,

“First the radio to cut off communications… I should have seen it coming…”

 

By the time they had reached the house, Swindle had shucked out several thousands of dollars in damages (although considering he owned the taxi company, that didn't mean much) and was complaining that they spent more than he made in an hour. Since that didn’t impress anyone, they ignored him, preferring to crowd around the flyer car to admire Thrust’s window art. Several ‘cons offered to buy it, but it turned out that the taxi driver was in no mood to sell the window or the car for any price. (And Thrust refused to take mere money for his art anyway.) The Constructicons were eventually removed from their taxi (or to be more accurate, taxis, since it was now a double decker), all the while begging to have “just a few more minutes to work on the rocket booster engines.” However, everyone knew that a ‘few more minutes’ of Constructicon time in reality translated to ‘whenever I’m done’ to everybody else, so they ignored the pleas and dragged them away. Soundwave got on the phone to ask about the Insecticons’ condition (they had been taken to the hospital after reporting an odd stomach sensation). 

“Well, we pumped their stomach and did find some weird odds and ends…” the doctor reported. “They probably ate something they shouldn’t have. But they’re healthy as horses now—having some lunch at the cafeteria as we speak. They should be back to normal in no time.” Soundwave decided he would have to stress the necessity of edibility to the Insecticons when they got back. Deactivating the cell phone, he looked the Decepticons over carefully. Thrust and Ramjet (with some help from his cassettes) were dragging Skywarp to the pool despite the Thundercracker’s best efforts to the contrary. The Constructicons were commiserating on the front porch. The Combaticons were racing the remaining Stunticons. Blitzwing and Astrotrain were trying to climb one of the large trees in front of the house. _No, they are not ready to leave yet_ , Soundwave decided, noting how lackluster, weak and lifeless they all seemed—they obviously still needed more time to recuperate. 

 

By the end of the afternoon, most of the force had gotten tired out again and were laying around on the nearest clean linoleum (genuine linoleum, not cheap imitation vinyl floor tiles) since it was nice and flat and fairly hard. The nearest clean linoleum happened to be on the entryway to the house, so Soundwave carefully picked his way through the sleeping warriors and headed to the house computer to do more research.

The unfortunate fact of the matter was that humans needed ‘three meals a day’ to maintain a full energy charge. He had only provided one. Although it was obvious from experience that human bodies could do without food or rest for short amounts of time, he knew that the consequences of doing so were neither healthy nor pleasant. He himself still felt weak and his limbs still ached from their earlier ordeal, despite the full recharge and the large meal he had consumed. Humans seemed to be very slow to recuperate—and not just in the energy department. Thundercracker was still limping though several days had passed since he had fallen, and several others who had wounded themselves with particular violence still complained of pain and inoperability. Soundwave suddenly heard screams coming from outside and looked out the window, preparing to run out of the house to render aid. But fortunately, it was only Thundercracker hopping around on one foot with an arboreal mammal on his head. Soundwave supposed he’d been climbing trees again—the flyers did like high places.

“Soundwave!” He heard someone's voice drifting the half-open window from outside. “Soundwave!” He quickly waded through the sleeping bodies of the warriors in front of the entrance and looked around for the source of the voice. “Soundwave!” He finally traced the source, which was up in the air and to the side. He looked up. Skywarp was about thirty feet high in the air, clinging to a small, bouncy branch from which proceeded ominous cracking noises. Blitzwing and Astrotrain were hugging a larger branch a fair distance away, and in spite of the danger Soundwave couldn’t help but wonder how on Cybertron they had managed to get up there. Quickly he assessed the situation. Blitzwing (the closer of the pair) could not travel out onto the limb to help Skywarp or the branch would assuredly break. However, above Skywarp was another small branch, probably the one he had been trying to reach when the branch he was currently holding had become unstable. Unfortunately, it looked as though if Skywarp were to loosen his grip on the branch he was currently hanging onto for dear life, he would slip off altogether. 

“Move towards the trunk,” Soundwave called. Skywarp didn’t nod, but he slowly and carefully inched backwards toward the main body of the tree. That would reduce the leverage the Seeker was exerting on the branch while moving him closer to an easier-to-grasp part of the tree branch above. After he had slowly eaked his way a few feet back while the tree made creaking noises, Soundwave called, “Attempt to reach the upper branch.” Very slowly, Skywarp disengaged himself from the branch and reached upwards for the higher branch. Soundwave breathed a mental sigh of relief as he caught it and distributed his weight between the two branches. “Leave tree,” Soundwave ordered, and then returned to his computer to do more research.

A few minutes later Skywarp and Thundercracker came limping in together. Soundwave could now see how scratched up they looked--even through their bizarre, attention-drawing tattoos. Thundercracker brushed the twigs and leaf particles out of his hair, then both Seekers dragged themselves exhaustedly up the nearby staircase, muttering something about where they were going to a safe place to hide from the cassettes and the coneheads. Soundwave silently hoped that they were tired and were going off to recharge somewhere where they would cause no more trouble. They were. On the roof.

Fortunately, when evening came movement became difficult in the darkness outside, so Soundwave deemed that his supervisory presence would be less required. He found a quiet room in audio sensor range of most of the first floor and lay down for some well-deserved rest. Eventually the last few die-hards staggered in and dropped, sopping wet and smelling of chlorine, onto the carpet (since the linoleum was still full), pausing only to activate the television. Since the remote control, however, was two feet out of Brawl’s arm reach and since his motivation circuits were running low on energy, they were unable to change the channel...which had been left on singing animals, but now featured a song about colors. Since Blast Off was now lying next to the TV proper and had even less motivation than Brawl to get up to turn the set off, the show stayed on.

When dawn broke with screams as tiles began sliding off the roof of the house, Soundwave awoke and noted as he rushed out the front door that the warriors definitely seemed to prefer a particular type of television.  _Perhaps it is the result of inadequate food and rest_ , he speculated with some concern. 

It turned out that the Seekers had caught themselves on the rain gutter and were not in imminent danger of falling to their deaths yet, so Soundwave returned to the house and found the Insecticons going at the kitchen table with serrated knives again. It was time for more food.

As the Constructicons boredly renovated the plumbing under the sink (at least they had cleaned the kitchen before starting, so some good came of it), Soundwave quietly researched alternative methods of food procurement. Skywarp and Thundercracker were throwing the roof tiles into the pool, which looked like fun, so most of the force headed up to the rooftop to join them. The Insecticons stayed downstains, where they dug up the roots of the houseplants they had devoured earlier. 

In a few minutes, however, the rain spout had broken off and the Decepticons ran out of tiles, so everyone came tromping back downstairs looking for something else to do. Soundwave had a few ideas, and shortly everyone was occupied with bailing the kitchen while the Constructicons insisted on “just a few more minutes” to adjust the water flow rate. The Constructicons hadn’t finished improving the plumbing system by the time the time the water had reached knee height, so the Decepticons cheerfully locked the door to the kitchen and let the Constructicons know that when the water level got high enough that they were done fixing the sink they could feel free to come out and join them. Scrapper informed them that they had broken the window to drain the water and that the plumbing would get done when it was done and no sooner. The Decepticons stuffed blankets in the door crack to stop the water from leaking out of the kitchen and getting the new Wreck Room wet.

Across the street, Mrs. Plumhill--awakened at the hour of 4 am by screams of terror and falling roof tiles--got out her favorite pair of binoculars and climbed up to her third story window to get a better view of what was going on behind the windows of her new neighbors’ house. From the broken kitchen window of the other house, water was pouring out and running down the hill towards the lake. Behind another window, she could see objects flying through the air. Muffled shouts and crashes rang out through the early morning silence, punctuated by an occasional hair-raising scream. Mrs. Plumhill watched with narrowed eyes, and moved down to the second story to get a better vantage point.

 

Thrust, having determined to rid himself of the chin growth which Optimus Prime was so aghast at, borrowed the internet temporarily from Soundwave and did a little research of his own. After finding out exactly how to remove the facial growth, he headed up to the bathroom to look for a razor blade. Rumble and Frenzy were already there, busily flooding the room by means of an overflowing bathtub and a struggling Skywarp. After helping them dunk the Seeker a few times, he dug around through the cupboards until he found a tool like the one he had seen earlier on the planetary data network. Unfortunately, Mixmaster had already taken all of the sprays and chemicals he had been able to lay his hands on for unknown purposes, so Thrust was unable to find any of the other stuff that was supposed to go with shaving. However, he was fairly certain the razor alone would be sufficient.

Wondering at the wisdom of using a veritable knife to scrape hairs off of one’s skin, he took special care to complete the task without getting too much blood on the floor. Fortunately, unlike Dirge and certain other Decepticons who instantly went unconscious at the sight of blood, Thrust had a strong stomach and was able to finish the job. He examined his face in the mirror. Skywarp and Thundercracker’s annoying tattoos were still visible, if faded. He got some water and rubbed on his cheeks some more, but the pen refused to come out. Now Optimus Prime seemed to be pointing conspicuously at a cut which ran across his chin. Oh well, it was better than hair. Speaking of hair… He fluffed the now somewhat wet hairs on the top of his head, then looked down at the razor in his hand. A circuit connected.

 

With Rumble and Frenzy locked safely and smugly in a bedroom, Skywarp annoyedly headed down to the Wreck Room to look for Thundercracker. The television was on (as usual), and was showing some inane human social situation with constant ‘hahahahahahaha’s in the background. FIX The remote control was being ‘controlled’ by Blitzwing, Astrotrain, or Motormaster, whichever one had the upper hand as their wrestling match continued, so Skywarp flopped down next to Thundercracker and stared at the screen, allowing its witless humor to drain his mind... NO!!! Pulling back from the edge, he peeled off his soaking wet human foot coverings and layed them out to dry on the nearby lamp.

“They got you again?” Thundercracker asked sympathetically.

“It was a sneak attack,” Skywarp replied in disgust. “Now they’ve locked themselves up and I can’t get them.”

“Who this time?”

“Rumble and Frenzy. Then Thrust helped.” Skywarp wrung out his shirt front on the plush carpet and laid back on the couch. “I hate being wet.” Thundercracker reached over and handed him a nearby decorative pillow to dry his face off with. Skywarp used it, then tossed it at the three fighting over the remote and shouted,

“Change the channel to something decent while you’re not watching!” The fight paused momentarily, then a hand popped out of the fray victoriously holding the remote, clicked it once, and disappeared into the fray again. The new show was hardly any better, consisting of a book singing about the number ‘3,’ but Skywarp doubted they cared enough to change it to something interesting.

“Look what I’ve got,” Thundercracker said suddenly, holding up another pen. “This one is red colored.” Skywarp’s interest perked. Just what they need to finish Optimus Prime and Starscream!

“How are you going to get him to hold still?” Thundercracker asked, easily reading his friend’s mind after millennia of hanging around with him.

“I don’t know yet. Besides, Thrust’s locked himself in the bathroom.”

“What about Ramjet?”

“He’s still asleep. Locked in a bedroom up on the third floor.”

“Too bad we can’t draw on ourselves anymore,” Thundercracker said, looking longingly down at the pen in his hands. Skywarp nodded sorrowfully; Soundwave had made it quite clear that he did not want them to stick out in a crowd. Suddenly Thundercracker got a look of someone who has just gotten an epiphany. Judging by the other jetwarrior’s face, Skywarp knew it was something good.

“Hand me your foot,” Thundercracker requested, a grin blossoming on his face. Skywarp put his foot up in Thundercracker’s lap and the other Seeker dried it off with his shirt and flourished the pen, a mischievous light glinting in his eye. “Just keep your socks on, and nobody’ll know,” he said with a devious smile. An equal smile brightened on Skywarp’s face. Thundercracker uncapped the pen and then considered thoughtfully. He wouldn’t want to waste the small amount of surface area on just any old drawing. Finally an idea struck him, and he began to draw. Skywarp watched with interest. Finally he could hold back his curiousity no more.

“What is it?”

“Hold on. You’ll see,” Thundercracker assured him.

"That's what we said to Thrust," Skywarp pointed out suspiciously.

"Trust me," Thundercracker said with a toothy grin.

"That's what I always say to you," Skywarp snorted.

The drawing went fine until Thundercracker got to the bottom of his foot.

“Hehehe,” Skywarp went, jerking his foot back almost involuntarily.

“What was that for?” Thundercracker asked, pen poised.

“I don’t know. The pen made my foot feel funny.” He put his foot back down to let Thundercracker continue, but as soon as he started the funny feeling came back again. Skywarp crunched his foot up to stop it and laughed, “Stop!”

“What?” Thundercracker asked in confusion.

“That funny feeling happens whenever you start drawing there,” Skywarp explained, pulling his foot back to examine the bottom. He gently poked at the area where Thundercracker had been drawing. Nothing painful ensued. “Hand me the pen,” Skywarp requested, and Thundercracker passed it over, scootching closer to watch. Skywarp drew the tip down through an already drawn line and felt the feeling again. He scrunched his foot up to stop it.

“Does it hurt?” Thundercracker asked curiously. Skywarp didn’t exactly look like he was in pain, but…

“No. It just feels… I can’t explain it. Let me see your foot.” Thundercracker pulled off a sock and passed his foot over. Skywarp ran the pen down the bottom of his foot and Thundercracker gave a chortle and retracted it.

“Weiiiird,” Thundercracker said, drawing the word out as he stared down at his foot. “And I thought toes were strange.” He wiggled them and shook his head.

“Let’s try something else,” Skywarp suggested, and he took the pen’s cap and drew an invisible line down his own foot. The feeling came instantly. Thundercracker drew his fingernail down his foot. It worked. A few dozen other objects later, it had been established that almost anything, when used correctly, could be used to induce a semi-voluntary foot spasm and some laughter. The effect was neither painful nor appeared to have any long term effects, so soon they were clinging to one another’s feet and writhing in laughter as they tortured each other. The triple changers and Motormaster, having finished their discussion about whether green was a better color than blue and settled on a show about humans doing things for money which none of them realized were supposed to be painful and stupid, turned to see what was going on.

“Are you alright?” Blitzwing finally asked.

“Let go of me!” Thundercracker giggled as he was wracked with spasms of uncontrollable laughter.

“You first!” Skywarp gasped out between hysterical cackles.

“Think we should call that number?” Astrotrain asked, referring to the prominent ‘911’ next to the phone.

“Let’s give it a few more minutes.” They watched as the two Seekers relentlessly scratched at each other’s foot surfaces while attempting to free their own foot from the other’s control. It was a totally incomprehensible activity, somewhat frightening to the onlookers. After a few minutes of this peculiar behavior, both of their spasms lessened, and eventually Thundercracker offered peace.

“Truce?”

“Truce.” Panting and wheezing with apparent exertion, the two layed back on the couch end to end and pulled their socks back on. 

“What was that about?” Motormaster asked them.

“We don’t know,” Skywarp replied. “Want me to show you how it works?”

“I don’t think so.” At that moment Thrust came running down the stairs in excitement, holding a bloody T-shaped tool in one hand.

“Look what I did!” he exclaimed excitedly, pointing at his bare and rather cut up head.

“How did you do that?” Skywarp immediately demanded enviously, sitting up.

“With this!” Thrust held up the T-shaped tool triumphantly.

“Show us how!” Motormaster demanded. Thrust wiped the blood droplet forming on one of his head wounds off and smeared it on his pants, then knelt down next to Motormaster and said,

“Be very still. This may get a bit messy, but nothing too bad,” the Stunticon leader froze as Thrust carefully began to rake the T-shaped device over his cheek, hair disappearing in its wake. Skywarp and Thundercracker climbed off the couch to watch in fascination. It did get a bit messy, but they were getting used to the sight of blood and were able to watch the whole thing without getting sick (as long as they didn’t think of the scene with the sheet-draped human). When Thrust finished proudly, Motormaster ran his hand over his head and chin in glad surprise and quickly went off to find a mirror.

“Me next!” Astrotrain yelled. Thrust, who by this time was getting fairly skilled, quickly finished Astrotrain. Unfortunately, before he could get around to doing anybody else Soundwave came in, having heard the commotion about Motormaster and decided to investigate. Unable to compute the meaning of the hair lying around the floor and the blood everywhere, he said,

“Explain.”

“We’re getting rid of our hair!” Blitzwing said in a thrilled voice.

“Hair is the human norm. Removal destroys camouflage,” Soundwave stated unhappily.

“Can we at least get rid of this? Most humans in this area don’t have them,” Skywarp begged, pointing to the light mustache and beard he had developed.

“Affirmative,” Soundwave said, sitting down at the computer.

“You figured out how to remove hair?” Dragstrip said as he entered, his voice hopeful. Several other Decepticons poked their heads in behind him expectantly. Thrust nodded affirmation.

After eighteen Decepticons had been shaved (Rumble and Frenzy still had no facial hair, despite the removal of their nose rings, and the Constructicons were still renovating the plumbing), Thrust heartily regretted being the one who had possessed the initiative to figure it all out. Everybody went around running their hands over their jaws while Motormaster and Astrotrain were silently thankful for their good luck in getting rid of all of their head hair (until they discovered sunburn).

The Constructicons finally began pounding on the kitchen door, but since it was obvious by the water seeping out of the rags stuffed into the upper part of the door crack that it wouldn’t be a good idea to open the door anymore, Reflector and Vortex stacked some chairs up outside the drizzling kitchen window and threw some pillows on the broken glass so that they could exit that way. The Constructicons climbed out and staggered around slightly before sitting down on the nearest grass and gasping.

“Air. I love it,” Long Haul panted.

“So easy to breath,” Scavenger agreed.

“Hey, they got rid of their face hair!”

“How’d you do that?”

“Thrust did it!” Blitzwing explained eagerly.

Thrust by this time had decided that he was  _not_ going shave 24 Decepticons every day, so he got together everybody who wanted to have their facial hair removed in the future and held demonstrations and practice sessions on the Constructicons (who did not die of blood loss, despite the learners’ best efforts). Exhausted by the experience, Thrust made his way towards the living room to nap. He opened the front door, and took one step inside. 

“Gotcha!” Thundercracker shouted, pouncing upon his weakened prey.

“Help!” Thrust shouted. “Heeeelp!”

“Alas, I fear Ramjet is all “tied up” at the moment,” Skywarp said with a wicked grin. After a short struggle, they got Thrust tied up with extension cords. Both Seekers smiled gleefully at each other as they carried him out the back door and layed him down on the lawn.

“Nothing painful, remember?” Thrust reminded them nervously from his position on the grass. The two captors exchange a glance and started chuckling ominously.

“Don’t worry. This won’t hurt a bit,” Skywarp said in a way which was not reassuring. He and Thundercracker knelt and began to untie Thrust’s shoe laces.

“What are you doing?” Thrust demanded. He had expected them to throw him off the diving board or something along similar lines, but this was taking an unexpected and unnerving turn. The two jetwarriors now wore ear-to-ear grins. Thundercracker tossed one of Thrust’s socks over his shoulder and Skywarp pulled off the other. They exchanged one more broad grin, then simultaneously grabbed his feet and began to scratch the bottoms lightly.

“Hehe—What—heheheehee—are you—Stop that!heehehheheAaaugh! HAHAHAhehe! RAAAAMheheheheJEEEET!!!HAHAHAhahahaha!” Thrust squirmed as he laughed helplessly, trying to escape whatever sort of strange torment was beginning inflicted upon him. “RAAAMJEEET!” he screamed when he was able. Finally his wingmate burst out the front door, kicking off an extension cord wrapped around his foot, and rushed forward to rescue him. Skywarp and Thundercracker fled the scene and Thrust panted with relief as Ramjet knelt next to him and demanded,

“Are you alright? What were they doing to you?”

“I hope so,” Thrust gasped. “It was…” He panted for a moment as he thought about how to describe it, “…real weird. Now untie me so we can get them.” Ramjet set to work on the knots, but knew that the two Seekers were probably safely locked up somewhere by now having a good laugh.

“We’ll get them back for this. Somehow!” Ramjet declared to his wingmate. Thrust sat up as he worked out the last knot.

“They took my shoes and socks,” he noticed, groaning. “They’re good.”

“We’ll beat them,” Ramjet said with determination.

“Yeah,” replied Thrust, but somehow he had trouble thinking of how they could top this exploit.

 

Soundwave turned and searched through the house until he found the Decepticons who were the most familiar with Earth culture--excluding, of course, the Insecticons, who were completely unreliable, and Swindle, who was in another teleconference. Interrupting a fight over a mostly-empty toothpaste tube, Soundwave announced,

“Rumble, Frenzy, Skywarp, Thundercracker. Mission: Foraging.” He handed Thundercracker several thousand of the dollars which Swindle had earned, figuring that he would probably make the most sensible decisions of the four. Skywarp’s easily readable face took on an unmistakable expression of pure glee, and he quickly dragged Thundercracker from the room and out towards the doorway without heed to the protests of his friend to slow down. Soundwave momentarily wondered if he should remove Skywarp from the mission, but since he didn’t know how many people would be needed to transport the food back he let them go.

“See ya later Soundwave!” Rumble shouted after him as he and Frenzy followed the two Seekers. Soundwave watched impassively as they disappeared around the corner. The no-longer-suppressed cackles Skywarp was making could be heard even from the second floor.

 

“We are going to have fun!” Skywarp declared, taking the money from Thundercracker and grinning uncontrollably at it as he counted it out.

“Let me see!” Frenzy demanded.

“Bug off, runt,” Skywarp said. There was a pause as Rumble and Frenzy exchanged twin smirks.

“Hey Sky,” Frenzy said in an overly sweet voice. “Want to play in the pool when we get back?”

“Now you’ve done it,” Thundercracker muttered darkly. Rumble patted Skywarp on the back.

“I think he does, Frenzy.”

“Heh heh. I think he does too. The bubbling hot pool,” Frenzy chuckled. There was silence as Skywarp pondered the consequences of his actions for twice in one week. Thundercracker broke the relative gloom as he pointed to a store in the distance.

“I think that’s the grocery store over there.”

“Yeah, that's what it is,” Rumble confirmed, putting a hand over his eyes to block out the sun as he looked. They trekked over through the parking lot and entered through the automatic doors. The big, well-lit store stretched out before them, seeming to shine with all the attraction of a candy shop to kids, or perhaps a china shop to bulls.

“Your mouth is leaking,” Thundercracker observed as Skywarp stared at their target zone. Skywarp snapped out of his daze to wipe his mouth off on his sleeve.

“Disgusting human body,” he commented. “Let’s go. Why don’t you two—” he pointed at Rumble and Frenzy, “—go find something, and we’ll go find something, and we’ll meet back here later.”

“Have fun!” Rumble said to Thundercracker.

“ _See you later,_ _Skywarp_ ,” Frenzy added in a cheerful voice suggestive of impending doom. With the mission objectives clarified, each team grabbed some carts and they wheeled off in opposite directions. 

“We’re gonna need more carts than this, for sure,” Skywarp muttered. Twenty-four Decepticons was a lot of mouths to feed, and that wasn’t even counting the Insecticons. Skywarp was sure they would need at least three carts just to take the edge off of Shrapnel’s appetite. 

“Do you remember anything from the briefing about human nutritional needs?” Thundercracker asked. He had barely been awake for it himself.

“Lots of grain products,” Skywarp replied succinctly.

“That’s all?”

“What, were you actually expecting me to remember all that? I’m still trying to get over the trauma of listening to it in the first place!”

“It’s a good thing Soundwave couldn’t give the briefing,” Thundercracker agreed. Soundwave’s briefings were notoriously dull (if short!).

“And it’s too bad Starscream couldn’t give it.”

“He gives the best briefings,” Thundercracker gave a slight chuckle. Starscream hated briefings as much as Shockwave seemed to love them, and so they were certain to be short and shrill. And since he was actually going on the mission with them more often than not (unlike certain briefers back on Cybertron whom Skywarp could name), Starscream actually included all the pertinent information which related to them getting out alive.

“I guess we won’t be hearing from him for awhile though,” Skywarp said. They imagined Starscream and Megatron slaving away at some energon refinery, sniping at each other.

“So we left Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ravage at the Ark, Dead End, Wildrider, Breakdown and Dirge at the clinic, and now Megatron and Starscream are going to a labor camp. We’re losing warriors fast,” Thundercracker observed.

“True. …Hey, did you hear about the psychologist talking to Soundwave?”

“Uh-uh,” Thundercracker shook his head in the negative.

“The psychologist says, “Tell me about yourself.” Soundwave: “Designation: Mechanic.” The psychologist: “Oh. Do you like it?” Soundwave: “Affirmative.” Psychologist: “And how has the ray affected you?” Soundwave: “Temporary insanity and panic.” Psychologist: “Can you explain that in a little more detail?” Soundwave: “Approximately one minute of high anxiety, followed by irrational actions including screaming nonsense and jumping up and down.””

“Hey, Soundwave wasn’t screaming or jumping up and down, was he?”

“Of course not. He just said that to match our alibi.”

“Soundwave would never do that—the universe would probably collapse from the sheer contradiction of it.”

“Except for that one time…” Thundercracker and Skywarp shared a chuckle.

“So, anyway, the psychologist says, “You seem not to want to talk about this.” Soundwave says, “Evaluation: Incorrect.” Psychologist: “Then why do you keep giving such short answers?” Soundwave: “Brevity facilitates communication.” Uh… I forget what they said next. But then the psychologist goes, “So, tell me a little about your personal life.” And Soundwave says, “Nosiness: Unappreciated.”” The two Seekers laughed at that. There was no getting information about that topic out of Soundwave. His cassettes were another matter, of course...

“There’s the grain aisle, I think,” Thundercracker pointed. Skywarp pushed his cart fast, then jumped on it and rode it, kicking the ground with one foot to keep his velocity up. Thundercracker quickly imitated him and rode after his wingmate. They reached the grain aisle in no time. Thundercracker began grabbing whatever bread products were on the shelves and tossing them into the cart. Variety was the rule of thumb they followed, and soon the carts were full. 

“I think this is mostly air,” Skywarp observed as he squeezed on a porous loaf of bread.

“Let’s buy the denser kind then,” Thundercracker said, pointing at a darker colored loaf.

“Right.” They exchanged some of the lighter bread products for denser ones, keeping a few light-colored ones just in case.

“Well, what now?” Skywarp said, pushing his cart out of the bread section.

“Let’s just take the next aisle,” Thundercracker shrugged. Since all they knew was that humans liked grain products, and since they already had grain products aplenty, it was a simple enough matter to pick out the rest of the food: just take one of everything. Nutella rubbed elbows with liquid detergent and liked it. Orange Jello sipped coffee with the smoked oysters. The carts were getting heavy to push, but since it hadn’t occurred to them how they were going to transport everything back to the house, they weren’t concerned. Thundercracker mashed the bread down to make more room for the bag of frozen french fries. There was a loud ‘pop’ from somewhere in the interior. “I’m not going to figure out what that was,” he informed Skywarp.

“I don’t want to know either,” Skywarp replied. He looked up ahead. “Ah, the meat section. Let’s see what kind of rodents they have.”

“They’d better have one of those climbing ones,” Thundercracker said in an angry voice.

“Your leg still hurt?” Skywarp glanced over at him.

“Not as much,” Thundercracker replied. To their combined surprise, the store not only did not have rodents, but the employee they asked about it was aghast at the very idea.

“No, no sir! We do not sell dead rodents!”

“Oh. Okay,” Skywarp said in disappointment. “Would you know where they do?”

“There’s a pet shop down on 6th Avenue,” the employee said, giving them an odd look. 

“Thanks!” Thundercracker called after him as he left, the employee glancing back at them nervously as he went down an aisle, the look still on his face.

“We’ll have to stop there on the way back,” Skywarp remarked, stuffing a package of frozen fish in between the popsicles and the candles. Then suddenly a strange expression struck his face.

“What?” Thundercracker asked, busily pounding a steak package into a narrow gap between two boxes of cereal.

“We uh, can’t exactly fly this back anymore, can we?” Skywarp said. There was a heavy pause.

“Uh oh,” Thundercracker said. Skywarp nodded, the truth hitting them like gravity.

“One more thing to hate about being human,” Skywarp sighed. “So how much do you think you can carry?” Thundercracker sized up the load.

“Not much?”

“Ditto.”

“Hey…” Thundercracker suddenly raised a finger as a circuit connected. “Why don't we go get some help from the Constructicons?”

“That’s not a bad idea, TC,” Skywarp admitted. “Though I don’t like sending for help on a mission Soundwave gave us.”

“Not to mention the Constructicons are somewhat occupied with the plumbing…”

“Yeah.” They thought for a moment.

“Do you think they’d let us borrow the carts?”

“After the way that guy we talked to about the rodents was looking at us?” They thought some more. Thundercracker’s eyes wandered around the store as he considered. By fortuitous circumstance, they fell upon a large box containing a twenty square foot tarp.

“I’ve got it!”

“What?”

“We’ll throw everything into a camouflage net like that one and drag it back together in loads!”

“Good idea!” Skywarp exclaimed. They balanced two tarp boxes on top of the already precarious piles of groceries in their carts.

By the time they had filled seven carts full, the four Decepticons were more than ready to go. They dragged the carts one by one to the fast lane, only to catch the ‘10 items or less’ sign and move disappointedly to another row, where they lined the carts up and waited to be checked out. Rumble and Frenzy sat down on the floor and opened up some magazines to read. Skywarp collected a specimen of each type of candy and several other items he failed to realize were inedible, adding them to the towering carts. They waited. The cashier shortly came to their order and asked,

“Are you all together?” Skywarp nodded, and reached in his pocket to hand her the money. She looked at it and said,

“Hold on a moment please.” Unhooking a phone, she called over the intercom,

“Manager’s assistance to checkstand five please, manager’s assistance to checkstand five.” The four Decepticons did not know the crack of doom when they heard it.

 

Later…

“I don’t see how separating our products into smaller orders and using smaller monetary increments has any bearing on the problem!” Thundercracker finally shouted in exasperation. The manager, a person of extraordinary patience and tact, explained the situation again. Rumble and Frenzy picked out new magazines to read.

“I didn’t know Optimus Prime had gotten married,” Rumble said, reading a black and white magazine by the name of World Reporter.

“To a human actress no less. Now that’s weird,” Frenzy shook his head.

“And how about this one: ‘Megatron Replaces President With Evil Robot Clone, Demands U.S. Go To War Against Autobots.’ When did that happen?”

“Do you think he got changed back somehow?”

“He would have picked us up by now,” Rumble disagreed. “Hey, listen to this! ‘O.J. Confesses Secret Decepticon Affiliation: “I was ordered to kill her!” Pleads Guilty Star.’”

“I don’t remember us hiring any ‘O.J.,’” Frenzy said in confusion. “Which magazine is that?”

“Great Cybertron!” Rumble exclaimed in horror, straightening up as he read something else.

“What?” Frenzy demanded.

“All Post ’84 Cars Revealed To Be Secret Autobots!” Skywarp and Thundercracker’s heads whipped around, identical shocked expressions on their faces.

Quickly everyone thought over everything that had been said during their discussions in the taxis.

“Okay, forget about it,” Thundercracker said to the manager. “We’ll come back later with different monetary increments.”

“We’ll put this in the cooler for you. Have a nice day,” the manager said, using up the last of her customer service smile for the day. Quickly the four Decepticons gathered around the magazine, reading and occasionally gasping in horror.

“We’re doomed!” whispered Frenzy as they stared in disbelief.

“I never suspected the Autobots would take over America's automobile plants and secretly build themselves an army,” Skywarp shook his head, overwhelmed at the magnitude of the catastrophe.

“We’ve got to get this report back to Cybertron!” After committing most of the article to memory, the four ‘cons rushed back in to report to Soundwave. They glanced inconspicuously at the neighbor’s car, attempting to determine its creation date, but were unable to do so. Fortunately, Swindle’s Ferrari had only been a rental (but definitely a post ‘84), so it was not at the house at the moment. They quickly dashed around the house, saying hello and acting normal, but giving the Cybertronian hand sign for ‘extreme danger’ and then the one for ‘assemble’ and then pointing to the innermost room of the house. Rumble locked the door and the other Decepticons waited in mystified anticipation. Thundercracker started in a low voice,

“The Autobots are about to win the war.” A host of gasps and surprised babble shot through the group. Skywarp held up his hand for quiet.

“Is this one of your stupid jokes?” Blitzwing growled. “It had better not be!”

“It’s not a joke,” Rumble exclaimed. “The Autobots secretly tampered with the assembly lines to the Earth vehicles and all cars made after 1984 are actually Autobots!” The chatter exploded again.

“Keep it down! They have audio sensors everywhere!” Frenzy winced. It quieted somewhat.

“I never would have suspected Optimus Prime had it in him,” Blitzwing said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What are we gonna do?”

“Dead End was right…”

“Let’s go down fighting!”

“Silence,” Soundwave’s calm voice cut through the babble like an energon saber. “Continue the report.” Rumble took a deep breath and gave the details:

“Most of the cars out there are Autobots. They’re waiting for Optimus Prime’s signal to transform and take over the world.”

“Yeah! Optimus Prime said they were gonna use the cars to wipe us out and start an Autobot empire on Earth!” Frenzy finished anxiously. “What are we gonna do?”

“I never would have thought Optimus Prime had it in him,” Blitzwing repeated, still shaking his head incredulously.

“Continue the attempt to reach the space bridge,” Soundwave said. “New orders: Act like humans to the fullest capacity. Do not discuss Decepticon matters unless in absolute privacy. Mission will continue as planned.”

“How are we going to get to the spacebridge without taxis?” Frenzy asked worriedly.

“Bicycle,” Soundwave replied calmly.

 

Dead End was smiling as he raced around the lawn in circles. Nervous Breakdown was calmly seated on a bench, reading a book. Dirge was delightedly screaming, "Higher, higher!" as he sat on a board suspended by ropes underneath a large metal frame, swinging back and forth as Wildrider, barely suppressing a yawn, pushed him. Taking it all in, Megatron wondered fleetingly if  _he_ was the one who should have been committed to the clinic. Starscream was one thing, but  _all_ his Decepticons?

"Attention!" he shouted, and instantly the four warriors looked up and froze--except for Dirge, whose momentum kept him swinging on the board, almost hitting Wildrider in the face as he arched backwards again.

"Meg--" began Wildrider in surprise.

"Silence!" Megatron snapped, interrupting the Stunticon before he could finish blowing their cover. Dirge released the ropes holding up the board he was sitting on and went sailing off in a parabolic arc through the air, landing on his hands and knees in the grass. Megatron frowned; jumping from high heights was something he had every intention of preventing his sole remaining flyer from doing. Climbing to his feet, Dirge headed towards him, curiousity and surprise written all over his features. Dead End and Breakdown made their way over to him as well.

"What happened? Why are you back here?" Dirge demanded instantly.

"We will discuss this in private," Megatron said, carefully looking over the faces of his Decepticons. ...They were his Decepticons, weren't they? The doctor had pointed them out to him when he had arrived, specifically detailing their conditions (depression, manic hyperactivity, extreme nervousness and morbid fear) and he had thought that he had known which one was which from the descriptions...but perhaps the doctor had gotten them mixed up as he had named them. "Is there a secure location we can discuss this?" he asked the foursome at last. He had managed to escape his euphemistically named "escort," but it would only be a matter of time before the guard found him again. "Nervous Breakdown" nodded placidly. Or was that actually Dirge? This one didn't have any of Breakdown's twitchy mannerisms.

"Follow me," the other said, turning and striding into the clinic. After passing through several corridors they came to a series of numbered doors, and the Decepticon in the lead opened the door marked 113. They filed in, and the last person in line shut the door carefully behind them. Megatron glanced around the room carefully, noting a bed, a window with a grate over it, and an assortment of other modest, tidy furniture. He moved to the window and peered out as best he could through the grate. Finding it sufficiently far from the ground that they were unlikely to be overheard through the thick glass, he turned back to his warriors. "Identify yourselves," he ordered. 

"Wildrider," the first said boredly.

"Dirge," the second grinned.

"Dead End," the third said, grinning even wider.

"And Breakdown," said the last, stifling a yawn. There was no mistake then. These were indeed his Decepticons, and they were indeed who he thought they were.  _...What on Cybertron had the humans done to them?!?_ With an effort, he contained a furious roar. 

"What happened to you?" he instead asked, his anger coldly controlled.

"They cured us!" Dead End blurted delightedly. Megatron's eyes narrowed.

"You mean reprogrammed you," he growled, grabbing Breakdown's head to look behind the ear for any signs of a Hypnochip or other mind control device. Nothing. He released the other with disgust, Breakdown rubbing his neck but not appearing particularly perturbed otherwise.

"No, no," Dead End replied quickly. "It's not like that--"

"They actually fixed our problems," Breakdown chimed in quickly. "It's great, I mean--"

" _What_ problems?" Megatron demanded. 

"Our psychological problems!" Dirge explained with a huge grin, "You know, I always thought it was normal for me--"

"Well, to be honest I'm a little bored now," Wildrider complained.

"But isn't it great to be able to relax?" Breakdown said, sighing deeply.

" _What have they done to you?_ " Megatron growled in a tone that typically indicated that any further discussion would be carried on with his fusion cannon. In response, Dead End reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white bottle, holding it up for Megatron's examination. 

"Medication," he simply replied. "And therapy." Megatron snatched the white bottle out of his hand and opened it--or rather, tried to. The top refused to come off. "Here, you have to..." Dead End said, reaching for the bottle. Megatron stopped him with a glare, holding it for a second before slowly handing him back the bottle. Dead End pressed down on the cap and simultaneously turned it, and the cap came off.

"They're a little tricky to figure out at first," Breakdown said with a small giggle. Taking the open bottle once more, Megatron peered inside. It was full of white, ellipsoidal objects. He poured a few out onto the nearby bureau and examined them. They revealed nothing.

"What do these do to you?" he pressed, letting his gaze bore into Dead End. The Stunticon shrugged,

"I don't know, exactly. I'm told they make me feel happier, when combined with positive thinking and other forms of treatment to deal with the root causes of my--"

"Enough. What about the rest of you?" Megatron turned to the others and fixed them with a glare that made them flinch. And so they should--that any Decepticon that would willingly allow themselves to be reprogrammed was outrageous in the extreme! Reluctantly Dirge confessed,

"These are mine." He held up another bottle. "I, well, feel a lot less, uhm..."

"Afraid," Breakdown finished. "And morbid. It's a big improvement." Dirge turned to glare at him, but remained silent.

"And you?" Megatron pointed at Breakdown, missing the fusion cannon that would normally be attached above his pointing finger.

"All my bottles are back in my quarters. There were too many to carry around," Breakdown shrugged apologetically, apparently not minding being the wretched center of Megatron's attention for once. "I had social anxiety and paranoia and a bunch of other stuff. A  _lot_ of other stuff. I still see a therapist twice a day." Finally, Megatron turned to Wildrider. 

"Well?" he ground out.

"Acute ADHD, I'm told," Wildrider said, pulling out a bottle of his own and frowning. "But the side effects of these pills are just as bad, if you ask me. Yesterday I spent thirty minutes polishing a stain on the table. And liked it."

"I didn't ask you," Megatron growled. "So what you four are saying is that you've willingly chosen to allow your programming to be tampered with by the enemy." They fidgeted and suddenly found the floor very interesting. "I would call that treason. What do you have to say for yourselves?"

Breakdown looked and stammered, "You--you did tell us to stay. We thought we were supposed to cooperate."

"We didn't think anything would actually happen anyway," Dead End added quickly.

"How can it be wrong to eliminate my greatest weakness?" Dirge said defiantly.

"I can stop taking them whenever I want; it just seemed best to play along till you guys got back," Wildrider shrugged noncommitally. "I'm not really addicted to them or anything, no matter what it says on the label." Megatron opened his mouth to give voice to a blistering response. He had planned to follow it up with a ten minute tirade which would melt their self esteem chips into little puddles of molten metal, and then switch to an understanding tone in which he would explain that he knew it wasn't entirely their own fault that they had let themselves be altered, and finally he had planned to give them one of his best "Prime" motivational speeches about pride, honor, strength, and duty which could make wounded Decepticons throw aside their scrap metal crutches and rush barehanded at the Autobots, and which should also hopefully make these four twits at least  _try_ to resist further reprogramming--but his plan of attack was interrupted by a knock at the door. Breakdown opened it. 

"Yes?"

"Ryan?" the human standing there asked, looking around the room before fixing his eyes on Megatron. "Ah, there you are. We've been looking for you. I was told to tell you that John Rogers has regained consciousness, if you want to see him."

 

Starscream moaned. He felt awful, simply horrible... His head, oooohhhh...

"Rogers, you idiot," someone snapped in a gravelly voice. He opened his eyes and found himself staring up into the face of a human. Tiny, vividly colored little jets--Seekers, weren't they?--were buzzing around the human's head singing the Marching Song in rather squeaky voices. The scene swam and mutated peculiarly in rainbowy light that he could somehow hear as well as see.

"I didn't agree to let you see the patient so that you could insult him," someone else--a rather large arboreal mammal with beady black eyes and a bushy tail--said, tail twitching angrily. But Starscream felt too sick and too weird to be hungry for...wait, the arboreal mammal wasn't food, was it? 

"Sorry--it was the ray," the first human growled, its nose bulging out into a long, furry snout. Pink ears sprouted at the back of its head. A, long naked tail appeared behind it.

"You're a mouse," Starscream observed, his voice sounding oddly distant in his own ears. The colors mutated lazily as he spoke.

"What?" the mouse demanded as the little jets began zooming happily in and out of its ears.

"A big, big, big, mouse," Starscream added, now trying to hold in a snicker as he suddenly realized just how funny the jets looked. A wave of nausea rose in him and simultaneously purple surged across the scene in a loud avalanche, making a sound like tinkling glass. "Ooooooh..." he whispered, watching it flow across the room.

"What did you just call me?!" The mouse sounded angry now. Perhaps he didn't like the jets flying through his ears.

"Stop it," he told them, but they just giggled and wouldn't listen. "I command you!" he added more sternly, and they giggled even more and flew back and forth faster. "I am your superior officer!" he finally exclaimed, and at that they turned into fish. But they still kept on swimming in and out of the mouse's ears, singing squeakily. The mouse crossed its arms and looked severely annoyed. Then the arboreal mammal moved closer and spoke up,

"The painkillers are affecting him right now. But... we're afraid it could also be brain damage."

"I'm sorry, they won't listen to me," Starscream explained, then tried to raise an arm to bat the fish away from the mouse's ears. Pain stabbed down his side and he groaned and lay still again. The room turned yellow.

"How long will he be in this...state?" the mouse asked. The arboreal mammal shook its head solemnly.

"I don't know. It's a miracle he survived at all..." The mouse just snorted and twitched its whiskers, observing,

"He's not that easy to get rid of."

"You're the biggest mouse I've ever seen," Starscream informed the mouse solemnly. It was astonishing how big that mouse was! But everything was big now, compared to...something. The mouse looked down at him again and glared. "Don't be angry, I meant it as a compliment," Starscream added soothingly, trying to reach up to touch the long whiskers. Again pain rushed through him and he crushed his eyes closed with a whimper.

"Can he understand what we're saying?" the mouse asked the arboreal mammal.

"Perhaps partially," the arboreal mammal replied.

"Partially?"

"No, no, I can understand  _everything_ , everything in the whole universe," Starscream broke in, grinning as the pain disappeared abruptly in a blast of sparkling green comets. It was so simple, really. Everything was nothing and nothing was everything. If he didn't know anything, then therefore he must know everything. Funny how he'd never realized such an obvious fact before. "I'm a genius you know," he informed the mouse modestly, fighting back another wave of nausea. 

"You're a malfunctioning moron with delusions of grandeur," the mouse growled back, sounding somewhat amused nevertheless. As he spoke the fish all turned into jets again, then transformed and merged into a giant robot that smashed up through the ceiling and disappeared in a blast of blue light. Starscream couldn't suppress a giggle at the sight--it was just so absurdly _funny_ for some reason! 

"What did I just say about insulting the patient?" the arboreal mammal said in a displeased voice.

"Not to do it," Starscream answered smugly as the mouse scowled. "You have to be patient with your patient!" he added, then snickered hysterically at his own wit. The mouse looked at him suspiciously. A wave of intense green light exploded to one side with a sucking noise.

"Are you  _sure_ he can't understand us?"

"I told you, I understand everything," Starscream insisted, "I know all. But I won't tell you any of it..." Somehow it did seem important not to let anyone know what he knew, although he couldn't remember why, or even what he knew that he wasn't supposed to let anyone else know about. Wait, didn't he know everything? But nothing was everything, and so if he didn't know then he did know. Ah yes, that made perfect sense. The mouse gave him a hard look, then asked,

"Are you certain you won't reveal anything?"

"You're a really big mouse," Starscream replied, grinning gleefully. "Really, really big."

 

"What happened to him?!" Dirge demanded as Megatron emerged from the Intensive Care Unit. Since the doctors wouldn't let more than one person in, he and the others had been standing in the hallway (actually, they had been standing at the door to the ICU with their audio sensors pressed up against it Soundwave-style) waiting to hear what condition Starscream was in. Dirge had been secretly relieved at the fact that they couldn't go in, since he suspected he might faint again if there was any blood visible, but his relief had completely evaporated after listening to Starscream's loopy babbling and cackling. What if that happened to  _him_ ?

"He jumped out of a fourth floor window," Megatron replied impassively.

"What for?" Breakdown asked, appalled.

"Either he was foolishly trying to escape or he thought death would be a more merciful fate than what awaited him."

"What fate was that?" Dirge prompted.

"Several years of incarceration."

"O-oh," Dirge said slowly. That would explain it; after all, what flyer wanted to trapped in a cell for that long? Starscream probably would have lost his mind within a few months--not that he seemed to be any better off now.

"What'd you get time for?" Breakdown asked curiously.

"Assault, resisting arrest, disorderly conduct..." Megatron trailed off. "I'll explain  _later_ . For now, all you need to know is that we must be prepared to depart soon." The guard that followed Megatron around stared suspiciously at him. 

 

If it hadn't been for the tubes stuck up his nose, the brace preventing him from moving his neck, the way his arm and leg were encased in something heavy that held them immobile and suspended in the air, the additional tubes that ran out of his other wrist, and the fact that the little jets would  _not_ stop singing the Marching Song, Starscream probably would have been a very happy 'con. After all, he  _was_ getting more attention than he had gotten in years, and there was nothing Starscream loved better than being in the center of attention (preferably positive attention, although negative would do in a pinch). At any rate, the attention was almost totally positive; everyone around him seemed all but obsessed with his wellbeing and happiness, and even the humans who insisted on inflicting minor and major tortures upon him seemed very sorry about it and tried to make it as painless as possible, if only (as they good-humoredly claimed) to preserve their own eardrums. Then there was the fact that--to his considerable amazement--everyone seemed to delight in carrying out his merest whims, instantly dealing with almost everything he complained about and smiling brightly about it all the while. Lights too bright? They would turn them down. Mouth dry? They would get him something to sip on and help him drink it. Dark tunnel closing in with a very pretty light at the end? They would all but lose their minds rushing around with all sorts of equipment and shouting at him to "come back," as if they thought he could actually leave the hospital with all the tubes and whatnot they had attached to him. He remembered that that particular experience had been rather unpleasant, although beyond hearing the word "stat" shouted a lot the details were rather hazy. At any rate it had resulted in him receiving much more attention than usual for some time afterwards, which he had of course soaked up like a sponge. 

"Hey, Sunshine," said a pleasant femme voice, breaking into his reminisces. "You've got a visitor." Starscream opened his eyes, blinking sleepily, and found one of the nurses who regularly attended him, Annita, standing with another man whom he didn't recognize. The man stared at him with an expression that appeared to combine equal parts horror and nausea, prompting Starscream to petulantly demand,

"What?"

"Uh, hey," the other said queasily, giving him a weak wave. "So..." he cleared his throat awkwardly, "How are the repairs going? I heard you were out of stas--off the meds." The last part sparked Starscream's interest. Catching Annita's eye, he asked hopefully,

"I am?"

"Sorry, nope. Just the ones that make you see the little jets."

"Bah," Starscream said sulkily, slitting his eyes in one of the few physical mannerisms he had left to express irritation. He hated receiving medications, at least the ones that came in syringes. It also seemed rather nonsensical to him that so-called killers of pain actually caused pain. Of course, when he had brought that point up, they had just laughed.

"But you're doing very well, aren't you?" Annita said, smiling cheerfully at him and at the visitor.

"Except for the obvious," Starscream sniffed, feeling the need to try to develop a bad mood in order to convey his displeasure about not being off the medications completely. It was one of the few wishes that they refused to grant, and that irritated him. It just seemed like the natural order of things that everyone should do what he said, and that if they didn't they should pay for it somehow. Unfortunately no one had ever informed the medical staff of this fact and as a result they just smiled cheerily back when he glared at them and informed them that they were supposed to obey him instantly and without question. Annoyingly, that observation had made them laugh too--just like Annita was laughing now. 

"Oh, don't be so grumpy," she said with a particularly perky smile. "You'll be out of here in no time."

"She means several months," Starscream said, translating for the visitor's benefit. The visitor looked utterly shocked. " _What_ is the matter?" Starscream demanded. 

"Are--are you going to make it that long?" the other asked hesitantly, stepping closer and looking him over, his facial expression slowly changing to one of profound pity. Starscream glared up at him, annoyed at being looked at in such a manner and growing irritated with the nonanswers.

"Of course I am. Now I asked you a question," he snapped.

"How can you stand this?!" the other finally burst out, waving at him and then at the room in general. "I would be losing my mind! You can barely move, you're stuck in this room all day, and you can't even  _see_ the sky!" 

"So?" Starscream smirked. "Do I look like I care?" The other gaped at him in astonishment. Then he turned to Annita and hissed angrily,

"What have you done to him?!" Annita nonchalantly pressed the call button on his bed, which was used to summon a nurse if he had a complaint about something, then replied,

"Tell you what, let's go talk to Dr. Chundey about that, shall we? John needs to get his rest." She smiled brilliantly at him as she said the last part, and grinning slyly, Starscream replied,

"Yes,  _do_ throw the bum out." 

"But I--" the other began to argue, but then the burly nurse who used to hold him down for his injections showed up and took the visitor by the arm. With an angry glare at her and Annita, the man was escorted out between the two. But not before throwing one last pitying glance over his shoulder and shuddering to himself. Starscream glared as the visitor disappeared out the door, leaving the room empty and silent but for the suddenly loud hum of the equipment. He drummed his fingers on the bed (and was vaguely surprised to hear a soft thumping sound rather than a loud rapping noise), now feeling energized and bored instead of sleepy. Finally he reached over and pressed the call button. A few minutes later Tanya, a short human with short, curly black hair and dark brown skin showed up.

"Yes?" she said warmly. "What do you need?"

"I'm bored," Starscream complained plaintively. He waited, and as always was pleasantly surprised when the nurse didn't tell him to shut up and stop whining or she would disable one of his vital functions.

"Well, would you like to watch some TV?" she asked instead, smiling as though she enjoyed helping him. Feeling a renewed sense of surrealism that had nothing to do with singing jets, Starscream replied in the affirmative. He seemed to recall somehow that he disapproved of television, but as usual, he couldn't put his finger on exactly why that was. At any rate it must be preferable to having nothing to do. The nurse went to the nearby counter and opened a drawer, pulling out a grey device that resembled a remote control of some kind. She aimed it at a deactivated monitor screen hanging from the ceiling in front of him and it sprung to life, revealing a picture of two people talking to each other. Tanya handed him the device. Then, smiling cheerily and telling him to just let her know if he needed anything else, she left the room. Starscream turned his attention back to the television and played with the buttons, watching different scenes go by and observing how the volume increased and decreased. Finally confident that he had mastered the controls, he clicked through the channels, settling on one in which a human was sitting in front of a monitor reading from a sheaf of papers. It wasn't so much what the man was saying that was interesting, but what was shown on the monitor screen behind him--a picture of two mechs who seemed eerily familiar somehow. The one on the left was large and grey and had an oversized black weapon--a fusion cannon, his mind supplied unexpectedly--which he was firing furiously. But it was the mech on the right--a Seeker, like the little singing jets had been--that Starscream's eyes followed curiously, trying to recall just what it was about that one that was so awfully familiar. This Seeker was silver, red, and light blue, and sported a rather cocky smirk on his face. Starscream couldn't help but notice that he seemed more intelligent, dangerous, and capable then the grey mech, who was now locked in hand to hand combat with a big red and blue mech. Something about that big red and blue one made him feel faintly nervous, and he was trying to figure out what exactly it was that prompted the feeling when the human in front of the monitor announced, 

"And now, the weather."

As Air Commander and second in command of the Decepticon forces on Cybertron, Starscream had once helped direct a global war involving millions of warriors. He could shape the strategy of sprawling aerial battles, while simultaneously fighting in said battles himself, while simultaneously making snide remarks about Megatron's strategy. As a scientist, his technical skills were sufficient to build a gestalt, explore a galaxy, and make vague doomsday predictions about the unintended side-effects of the energy-collecting device of the week. As the wingleader of his triad, he could coordinate his and his wingmates' attacks while flying at multiple times the speed of sound, all the while providing a critique of Megatron's leadership failures.

But since he didn't know he could do any of that, watching TV seemed like a pretty good alternative.

 

"You watch too much TV," said Janice disapprovingly, leaning against the doorjamb with her arms crossed and frowning at him.

"Is there anything else to do?" Starscream replied disinterestedly, popping a Cheetoh in his mouth as he watched an endangered Bengal tiger stalking a deer.

"And you eat too much junk food," Janice added. "Who got you those?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Starscream said, smiling inscrutably. In fact, Tanya had gotten them for him several hours earlier. Most of the nurses brought him treats from the vending machine down the hall, each one thinking they were alone in such appetite spoiling activities. Janice, however, had not succumbed to his Decepticon charms and now rummaged through the waste basket suspiciously, unearthing empty candy bar wrappers, Doritos bags, and cans of soda.

"I see you've been busy," she observed, pursing her lips with displeasure. "Do I need to hang a "Do not feed the patient" sign on the door or something?" Starscream sighed, wishing he had thought to cover his tracks better. 

"Is it _really_ going to hurt me to have a few snacks once in awhile?" he questioned beseechingly, fixing her with a wide-eyed expression and trying to look as innocent as possible. 

"Nice try, Sunshine," the nurse smirked. "You're just milking the system now with that look. I can see straight through you."

"I, John, milk the system?" Starscream pretended to be mildly affronted at the accusation. "Would you like some Cheetos?"

"Are you trying to bribe me?" Janice's face suddenly broke into a humorous grin. Ah, he had her now.

"Nooo," Starscream said innocently, "I just wanted  _share_ with you. Because we're  _friends_ ." 

"Nice try," Janice grinned, clapping sarcastically. "I must admit I've never been bribed with Cheetos before. Very original."

"Thank you," Starscream said modestly, "I do try."

"I know. Anyway, I have some good news for you--you get to leave that bed today."

"What?!" Starscream blurted, instantly seizing the railing of his bed with the arm that was not in a cast in preparation to cling to it for dear life. "I don't want any more scans! I feel completely fine! I've never felt better!"

"Indoor voice!" Janice chastised for what seemed like the millionth time, then grinned suddenly as if remembering something. "Actually, nevermind. For once it doesn't matter, because you get to go  _outside._ " 

"Outside?! No! I refuse!" Starscream shrieked. He couldn't remember anything beyond his own room and a few other rooms in the facility, but something about the word "outside" evoked strong forebodings. He just knew that it would be  _horrible_ out there, different from his room where it was warm, comfortable, and safe. And more importantly, he didn't really want to miss "As the Kitchen Sinks," which came on in fifteen minutes. 

"Oh come on, "Sunshine"--it's about time you saw the sun. What's wrong with going outside?" Janice asked appealingly, coming over to his bedside and patting his tightly clenched hand.

"I don't remember," Starscream replied suspiciously, not relaxing his grip. He knew from experience that as soon as he loosened his grip it was all over.

"It's a beautiful day outside," Janice said coaxingly. "You'd like it. And you need the exercise."

"You're lying," he replied flatly. And he didn't understand the point of exercise either.

"Also, you'll find that your hands are very slippery when they're covered with that orange Cheetoh gunk," Janice added pointedly, her smile twisting into something more sinister, yet still eerily sweet and pleasant. Starscream glared daggers at her, attempting to deny the truth of the statement, but a sinking feeling of defeat settled over him all the same. Seeming to sense it, Janice smiled victoriously. "Now that we understand each other," she purred, "We can head to the bargaining table. Whether you realize it or not, you can't live inside this clinic forever. Therefore, you are going to have to go outside sooner or later."

"Over my deactivated remains," Starscream snapped.

"I think you mean, 'over my dead body,'" Janice corrected automatically. "Although I think that perhaps 'over my sedated body' might be more appropriate in your case. Anyway, I'll cut you a deal." Starscream's eyes narrowed. "You only have to go outside for  _five_ minutes. If you don't like it after that, we can come right back in and you can return to rotting your brains out with TV and turning your body into a human marshmallow with junk food." Frowning with disapproval, Starscream nevertheless considered. How bad could five minutes be? Surely he could survive that, and be back in time for his favorite soap. But perhaps he could hold out for something better... 

"Three minutes," he declared assertively.

"Five. Deal or no deal?"

"Three and a half. And I'll probably freeze to death. Or be eaten by a tiger," he complained.

"There are no tigers on the front lawn and it's 70 degrees out. Four and a half," Janice replied unconcernedly.

"And what of the other dangerous animals out there, like racoons? This plan of yours is madness Janice! Four."

"You're stretching, but it's a deal. Put 'er there, partner," Janice smirked, holding out her hand for him to shake. Slowly and reluctantly, Starscream released the bar he was holding and shook her hand instead. Suddenly all business, Janice touched the bed controls and began raising it to an upright position, then went out of the room and returned with something she had left just outside--a wheelchair. Janice parked the chair next to him and pulled back his blanket.

"Okay, let's get your legs down..." she said. Grudgingly cooperating, he allowed himself to be maneuvered into the chair and sat there sulking and tapping his fingers impatiently. Janice tossed him a wetwipe, ordering, "Wash your hand off. I don't want Cheetoh grease all over the wheelchair."

"Would you hurry up?" he complained as he rubbed his fingers off. "As the Kitchen Sinks comes on in thirteen minutes and I don't want to--"

"Don't worry," Janice said irritably, taking the used wipe and throwing it in the trash. "We'll be back before you know it."

"You always say that and it never happens," Starscream grumbled.

"Not my fault. It doesn't take normal people three hours to do their x-rays, you know," Janice replied, and he suddenly felt her fingers probing through his hair. Starscream allowed it disinterestedly; as long as they didn't touch his stitches or get soap in his eyes, he really wouldn't have cared if they had spiked his hair and dyed it green. Over the past weeks he had grown accustomed to having all of his physical needs attended to by others, and as long as it didn't hurt or involve being shot by mysterious rays, he was quite content to let them do it. It had always been that way, as long as he could remember. "You're developing a case of dandruff, I see," Janice observed displeasedly, now smoothing his hair back into place.

"Dandruff?" Starscream queried nervously. It sounded like some sort of disease, and that would no doubt mean all kinds of new scans and injections and medications and...

"Something harmless but unhygienic involving dead flakes of skin from your scalp," Janice answered before his train of thought could go any further. "Easily treatable without any pain or discomfort involved at all, so for goodness sakes don't have a panic attack." 

"Who was panicking?" Starscream replied confidently. Behind him, Janice burst into a sudden fit of strangled coughing, perhaps of a symptom of some other disease she was carrying. "I do hope that's not infectious," Starscream said, some of his earlier nervousness returning.

"Don't worry--harmless," Janice choked out, sounding particularly amused for some reason.

"Good," Starscream said. Then, freshly irritated at the delay, he snapped, "Then let's go already and get this over with!"

Like a prisoner being led to the firing squad, Starscream sat silently while his implacable guard led him out of the room. The sense of apprehension about “outside” grew as they moved further and further away from his refuge and closer and closer to their ominous destination--where it would undoubtedly be cold, miserable, hungry and wet. Not to mention full of dangerous animals which would probably eat him.

"Perhaps I could persuade you to renegotiate our agreement," he said nervously, turning around to look at Janice.

"Nope," Janice said flatly, then slapped a big blue button on the wall and announced, "Here we are, the Great Outdoors." Starscream looked forward again apprehensively, and was greeted by the sight of a pair of automatic doors swinging open in front of him. What he saw beyond made him gasp. Stretching out to the horizon was a vast, deep, wide expanse of pure blue, broken by slowly scudding white clouds. There was a rushing sound, and the air which had been so sterile and lifeless before came to life and washed over him, sending chills of excitement racing up and down his spine. The living, moving air seemed to call him forwards up into the great sea of emptiness above. "What are you doing? Sit back down before you break your other leg," Janice demanded, firmly shoving him back down into the wheelchair.

"Look at that!" Starscream said exultantly, pointing at the sky.

"Yeah, it's called the "sun," Janice replied dryly. "Nice, huh?"

"Beautiful!" Starscream exclaimed, referring to the sky. He sat on the edge of his seat; it felt like all it would take was a quick jump up off the ground, and then he would--but that was ridiculous. He couldn't fly--he had no wings on his back, nor any thrusters on his feet. He was not a flying creature. Starscream settled back down and frowned momentarily at how absolutely  _wrong_ that sounded. But as he looked at the lovely, inviting sky with its clouds passing slowly by, his mood brightened again. 

"See? I told you you'd like it, but you neeever listen,” Janice complained in a long suffering tone.

"How fast can you push this?" Starscream demanded, pointing to the wheelchair as another idea occurred to him.

"Why? You want to compete in tonight's baby buggy races?" Janice asked, a quirky smile spreading across her face.

"No. If we could get this to go fast enough, then--" he stopped abruptly, realizing how absurb the notion he had thought of was. It seemed perfectly logical that he would lift off into the blue if he could just move fast enough across the ground on his wheels, yet...such a thing was obviously impossible.

"What?" Janice asked.

"Nevermind," he sighed irritably.

"Well, let's make a round of the park," Janice said, and began pushing him forward. Starscream kept his eyes fixed on the sky, utterly captivated by it. The air all around him was moving and playing through the trees, and he was acutely conscious of its motion, speed, and thickness. He wanted it to suddenly rush over him faster and faster until it howled by him in a blasting torrent--instead, it merely tickled his skin with a gentle, infinitely tantalizing breeze.

"Hey! John!" Someone shouted. Hearing his name, Starscream looked down from his contemplation of the clouds to see a human running towards him. The other looked faintly familiar...

 

"Oh look, this one has a basket--it's perfect for you!" Skywarp said to Longhaul with fake enthusiasm, pointing to the small purple (a good Decepticon color) bicycle sitting among the racks. Longhaul glared at him and immediately complained,

"I'm not hauling anything more than my share! It's bad enough just being stuck as huma--" he cut himself off abruptly as Blitzwing elbowed him and coughed loudly.

"Must you provoke everyone?" Thundercracker sighed, pushing Skywarp away towards the end of the aisle to try to keep him out of trouble--a futile endeavor, but worth an attempt at least. The coneheads were one thing, but harrassing the Constructicons was just asking for trouble, even if they couldn't form Devastator anymore. What was next, the Combaticons? 

"Yes!" Skywarp replied vehemently, "It's the core imperative in my programming! It's my primary function in life! It's my destiny!"

"What about being wet?" Thundercracker asked wryly. Skywarp pouted at that, and opened his mouth to say something, but whatever that might have been was cut off by Soundwave's loud-yet-still-ever-so-melodious command for everyone to immediately return and find a suitable vehicle. The other Decepticons who had been drifting away to other parts of the cavernous department store reluctantly made their way back to the bicycle racks and began examining the funny little ground travel vehicles. Ground travel vehicles!  _Of all the ignominy_ , Thundercracker groaned mentally. And not even powered vehicles, but the most primitive of primitive of primitive of machinery, which used gears and chains to turn wheels, all of which would in the end be driven by the legs of his very own organic body. Things couldn't possibly get any lower than this. Okay, so maybe they could. Say, if the millions of Autobots that had been produced since 1984 decided to come out of hiding. Thundercracker still found the magnitude of the cover-up unbelievable, but there was no denying the clear (actually, it  _had_ been rather blurry) photographic evidence that he had seen in the news article... Repressing a shudder, he turned back to the bicycles, then paused. He actually wasn't sure where to begin. 

There were all sizes, all colors, and all prices of bicycles lined up, and they all had tons of little doohickeys attached which served completely unknown purposes. Skywarp hesitantly tugged on a big grey bicycle, pulling it awkwardly out of the rack and looking to Soundwave to see what to do with it. The communicator was busy helping Rumble sit on top of a small green bicycle, with Frenzy trying to climb on behind his fellow cassette.

"One person carrying capacity," Soundwave said, shooing him off.

"Okay, I can do this," Skywarp muttered, looking back at his bicycle with a mixture of puzzlement and determination. Thundercracker decided to wait and let his wingmate sort out the bugs in the system before trying it out himself. Skywarp threw a leg over the seat of the bicycle and tried to climb up, causing the bicycle to wobble unstably--apparently its internal gyroscopes were offline. "Whoops, looks like I got one with bad gyroscopes," Skywarp said, coming rapidly to the same conclusion. He pushed the bike back onto the rack and selected the nearby black and blue one. "It matches," Skywarp said pleasedly, pointing to one of the few black-blue-yellow patches on the skin of his arm which was not caused by ink. Everyone in the force had those patches, and nobody quite knew what to make of them--a contagious disease was one of the leading theories. At any rate, it was generally agreed that they were an aesthetic improvement, except that they made one look like an Insecticon. Skywarp tried once more to climb onto the bicycle and this time it not only swayed back and forth, but the front wheel piece turned on its own volition. The bicycle immediately tipped over, sending Skywarp crashing to the floor. "Defective machine!" Skywarp blurted angrily as Thundercracker picked up the bicycle so that his friend could get up. Abruptly there was a clash of metal and the sound of Rumble shouting "Ow!" The pair of Seekers looked over to see Rumble had suffered a similar fate. Surely  _all_ of the bicycles couldn't be broken? 

They weren't. As Soundwave patiently explained, bicycles didn't  _have_ gyroscopes. The rider was expected to act as the gyroscope and to maintain the vehicle in constant balance by keeping an exactly equal amount of body weight on either side of it. It was absurd! It was impossible! It was stupid! And Soundwave was going to make them do it anyway. Reluctantly selecting a large blue bicycle, Thundercracker wheeled it over to a nearby post and leaned it there, wondering how best to proceed. The bicycle's front wheel crept slowly to the side, turning as it went, and the bicycle fell over with a crash. Thundercracker picked it up again and propped it up more stably. Somehow, he knew with a certainty that as soon as he tried to climb onto it, the bike would pull the exact same maneuver. 

"'Warp! Hold this for me!" he called, looking over at where Skywarp was gazing longingly at a very small red bicycle with two extra wheels in the back that prevented it from tipping over. "And Soundwave says the little bikes are no good," he added, just in case Skywarp had forgotten.

"I know," Skywarp replied, frowning. "And we're calling him "Sonny," remember--like Sony? Anyway, this just doesn't make any sense. These big ones are hard to get onto and you can barely touch the ground to hold yourself straight..."

"Yeah," Thundercracker nodded; it was odd that they couldn't use the bicycles which were easy to balance on, but Soundwave had been most insistent about not using them back at the house. He had said they would know that they had acquired the correct bicycle for their particular body type if they could barely touch the ground with their feet when they were sitting on the bike--conveniently ignoring the fact that bicycles were apparently rather difficult to sit on at all. Nevertheless, Skywarp took a firm hold on the handlebars of the bicycle and braced it while Thundercracker carefully stepped onto one of the pedals and then climbed up onto the seat. To test if it was the right size, he reached a foot down towards the ground, only to find that he couldn't touch it at all. Apparently the bicycle was too big then. He climbed off and found a smaller one, then prepared to try again.

After trying five more bicycles, Thundercracker finally found one that seemed to fit him. There was only one problem: it was red. No sooner had he announced his intention of keeping it then someone sang out, "Oooooh, Thundercracker's got an  _Autobot_ bicycle!" Embarrassed, Thundercracker suddenly noticed that his face was growing hot. A second later Rumble gasped,

"Hey look at that! He's turning the color of his bicycle!"

"Red is _not_ an Autobot color!" Thrust shouted. As a chorus of "yes it is!" broke out, Thrust too began turning red--much to Thundercracker's dismay. 

 

Soundwave drags the force off to the nearest hill so that they can practice how to ride their new bikes. After several hours of crashing repeatedly, getting caught in bicycle chains, getting run over by other bicycles, smashing into each other's bicycles and going out of control into the thornbushes on the side of the road--after all that, then everybody who can still walk has learned how to ride their bicycles. So, they take off on a tour of America. 

 

Meanwhile, back at the clinic Starscream is still clueless as to his real identity. Encountering the other Decepticons, he feels a certain kinship with them. But when Megatron reveals himself as the leader of the Decepticons, Starscream laughs in his face and says, "Well, now I know why you're in the looney bin!" From that point on he pigeonholes Megatron, Dirge, Dead End and Wildrider with the other crazies who think that they're Napolean or Julius Caeser or whoever. (And in fact, there is one nutty guy at the clinic who thinks he's Megatron, which is annoying for the Decepticon leader but quite funny to the rest of the group.) During his daily therapy session, Megatron tries to think out a plan for escape, but the situation is more complicated than anyone had initially realized. In addition, Starscream's condition confines him to a wheelchair. Upon being questioned about the Seeker's condition, the doctors state firmly that he won't be able to leave the hospital for several months, and reluctant to leave a potential goldmine of codes and top secret information behind, Megatron is forced to put off the escape until then. Meanwhile, Starscream enters fully into the human experience, drinking white chocolate mochas, playing card games like Go Fish and saying things like, "If I were President of the United States, the Decepticons would have been defeated eons ago!" Slowly his humanization begins to take its toll on the other Decepticons, who begin to go native, even (gasp) Megatron. The Decepticons occupy themselves by gleefully teasing Starscream about his views on how the human race can beat the Decepticons and telling him never to join the Air Force because he would be a rotten pilot. Dirge amusedly documents Starscream's humanized existence for blackmail purposes with a camera he got somewhere. The Stunticons, intrigued by his wheelchair, try to race it (with him inside) through homemade obstacle courses, with Starscream shouting "Faster, faster!" All the Decepticons crack jokes about how Starscream must love being sick because of all the beautiful human femmes (nurses) who wait on him hand and foot. Through it all, Starscream is totally convinced that he has amnesia because of the Decepticon panic ray. The rest of the group holds out hope that Soundwave will show up and save them, but their hopes sink lower and lower as time goes by. Yet at the same time, they seem to mind their human existence less and less.

 

Meanwhile, Ravage is prowling around a road by the Autobot base, wondering where the rest of the force is. Suddenly Bumblebee comes careening down the road and hits him, knocking him unconscious. He wakes up in a cage at an animal shelter and is adopted by a seven year old girl who names him "Lucky" (he was a black cat) and puts a blue collar with diamonds and hearts and a little bell on it around his neck.

Laserbeak and Buzzsaw, who watched helplessly during this event, but couldn't follow Ravage because Bumblebee drove away with him to the vet's too fast, pecked roadkill and ate out of McDonalds dumpsters in order to eake out a living as they begin flying towards the spacebridge.

 

Meanwhile, Soundwave ruled over the Decepticons with an iron fist, driving them to exhaustion every day so that they would just lie on the grass wheezing and couldn't fight with each other or cause property damage. But after the first week of this treatment, everyone was so debilitated that they had to stop for rest and let the wounded (the wounds were a result of the initial bicycle training and other various injuries) recuperate and the bicycles be repaired. 

During all of this, the force poses as a hard core "Bicycling Across America Tour Group," and because they bicycle to exhaustion in rain or shine with unprofessional bicycles and gear and no tents or sleeping bags, they impress a journalist who hears about their epic journey and decides to write an article about them and their trip for his newspaper. The result of this article is national fame. At every town they come to a group of well wishers meets them. Even the Autobots are intrigued by this brave little band of bicyclists, and decide to learn more about this human cultural phenomenon as well as starting a photo album of the journey.

So, the Decepticons--exhausted beyond all limits and kept going only by Soundwave's unwavering determination--finally finish pedalling a six mile stretch of uphill terrain to stop at a town for the night, where they are met by their usual crowd of cheering fans, including several Autobots. Wheezing their lungs out, they are forced to pedal right past the town and keep going uphill, cursing the wretched Autobots with every fiber of their being. The Autobots were so impressed by this display of grim machismo that they decided to meet the Decepticons at every major town they stopped at to cheer them on, much to the Decepticons' dismay.

During this adventure, they ate at fast food places like Pizza Hut, Subway, McDonalds and anywhere that claimed to have an "all you can eat buffet" as well as foraging at grocery stores and picking up the occasional piece of roadkill as a snack (the Insecticons claimed that humans ate it in Bali). While ordering at McDonalds or peeling dead porcupines off the road, two vultures were frequently seen overhead, the harbingers of the grim death which awaited those Decepticons who collapsed of exhaustion (or so Skywarp half joked). These two birds were none other than Buzzsaw and Laserbeak, who were extremely annoyed at the stupid humans who kept on stealing their roadkill. A series of ironical coincidences occurred as the two cassetes parallelled the path of the main force: while the two birds ate the french fries lying around the McDonalds dumpster, the Combaticons ordered Happy Meals at the window. This happened multiple times during the journey but neither side realized who was who until they met up at the spacebridge.

After several weeks of hard bicycling, the Decepticons toughened up considerably and were able to easily pedal for long hours. Finding it hard to keep the force under control by exhaustion alone, Soundwave turned to other means, namely some board games and Legos he picked up at Walmart. The Constructicons were intrigued by the Legos and used them to build a race of robots whose only programming was to survive and reproduce. The other Decepticons combined the board games together into one massive game (Risk-Monopoly-Candy Land-Shoot and Ladders-Chess) with rules they made up themselves and fought about constantly (I don't know, is teleportation a legal move in Monopoly?). Swindle, of course, dominated the economic part of the game, while the more tactically inclined Decepticons fought over the fate of Asia and South America with Chance cards that occasionally said things like "Oh no! You've fallen into the Chocolate Swamp! Go back to Start." The result of this massive, competitive game was that everybody ended up accusing everybody else of cheating, helping the other side, forming secret alliances, blackballing, and all sorts of other foul play, and people who had been friends for millions of years became bitter enemies. Thundercracker joined Thrust and Ramjet's triad while Skywarp joined the Stunticons. This arrangement lasted about a week before tempers cooled and the matter was dropped. Soundwave heartily regretted introducing the games and they were "accidentally" left in a culvert. 

 

Meanwhile, fed up with two weeks of being dressed up in doll clothes, called "good Lucky" all the time and putting up with the infernal bell on his collar, Ravage finally made a daring escape by shooting out through the front door as it opened and fleeing into suburbia. Catching mice, running from dogs, eating out of trash cans and getting a bad case of fleas, Ravage began to make his way towards the spacebridge, jingling all the way.

 

At the clinic, Starscream had finally recovered enough to go home...if he had had one, that is. The Decepticons tried to convince him to escape with them, but he wouldn't listen, and he considered Megatron to be a nutcase and wouldn't listen to him. So, they kidnapped him. Tied up and gagged in the back seat with bed sheets and crammed between Dirge and Wildrider with Nervous Breakdown driving crazily while giggling happily, Megatron in the passenger seat and Dead End in the trunk, they drove towards the spacebridge. They narrowly escaped being arrested after they got a ticket for speeding, a situation which was not helped when Breakdown nervously confessed that they had a person (Dead--er, Dudley), in the trunk. Fortunately, Dead End was still very much alive, and was able to reassure the officer that he wasn't being kidnapped. This situation had the benefit of distracting the officer's attention from the pale and cast-covered figure of Starscream in the back seat, whom Megatron claimed that they were taking to the hospital and thus they needed to speed. Starscream had been threatened with prison to ensure his silence while they were pulled over, but he still resolved to escape at his first opportunity. The Decepticons tried to convince him that he was one of them, but he still refused to believe them, although he was secretly beginning to have doubts about his identity as a human as his memory came back--which the other Decepticons noticed when Starscream understood more about his history than he ought to know. Finally, Starscream managed to escape on crutches and make it to a pay phone. Just as he was about to dial 911, Dirge found him and demanded that he return to the car. A standoff ensued, in which Starscream refused to go back and threatened to dial the number and turn them all in if Dirge took one step closer. Dirge confronted him about his disloyalty to the Decepticons and, drawing on his own experience of being cured of his morbid fear and on the pictures he had taken with his camera, he claimed that the only reason Starscream still had amnesia was that he didn't want to remember--that he wanted to stay human for the rest of his life. This accusation angered Starscream because deep in his heart he knew it was true--he had been enjoying himself greatly at the clinic and he hadn't wanted it to end. Anxious to depart from the uncomfortably close-to-the-truth line of questioning, Starscream tried to distract Dirge by spilling the secret that Dirge, Dead End, Wildrider and Breakdown had been on placebos for the last two months, and that they were deluding themselves in claiming that the pills were the only things that had caused them to be "reprogrammed." In other words, they were changed for real--irreversiby!--not just with pills. This revelation stunned Dirge, who had begun to give full credit to his recovery to the half-empty pill bottle he kept concealed on his person, hidden from everyone else--for just like the other three "crazy" Decepticons, he could not bear to return to his former existence, which he drearily predicted would happen when he became a robot again and could no longer use the medicine. When Dirge realized that the pills no longer made a difference in his mental state, he felt a new sense of freedom and relief, and yes, even triumph. Gaining a new understanding of Starscream's reluctance to remember his life as Megatron's chew toy, general base annoyance, and social outcast, Dirge reassured Starscream that he too could change, and he coaxed Starscream to remember what it was like to fly. As Starscream thought about it he found he could recall flying, and then everything else came back too. He hung up the phone and returned to the car with Dirge, sadder but wiser, to take up his role as Air Commander again. He knew that Dirge was wrong and that he couldn't change like the other flyer had, much as he wanted to. Wistfully he decided that it had been a nice vacation while it lasted. 

The next day they made it to the spacebridge. There they were met by a black cat with a bell around its neck, a pair of vultures, and twenty-four grubby bicyclists--yep, everybody arrived together. They called up Shockwave and ordered him to fetch them a shipment of WOT at once. Shocked by their appearance, Shockwave obliged, and an hour later they were all turned back. A joyous celebration ensued with the flyers swooping around, everyone hitting each other in delight at the return of their invulnerability, and Soundwave being happily reunited with his cassettes. The hated bicycles were stomped flat. Meanwhile, a party of Autobots, who had intended to check in on their favorite bicycling team, were heading towards the scene. While they drove, they wondered aloud why it had been so quiet for the last few months; there had been no Decepticon activity, and the only exciting thing that had happened at all was an attack on Tokyo by giant Lego monsters. Puzzling over this conundrum, they arrived and saw the Decepticons whooping with joy, hitting each other, and flying madly about. Astounded by the bizarre behavior, they concluded that the Decepticons must have shot themselves with their own panic ray, and laughing, they drove back to base. The Decepticons too happily headed back to their base, never having seen the Autobots.

 

Back at base, the Autobots put two and two together and finally got four. They realized who the panic ray victims were, and looking through the newspapers they recognized the bicyclists and Spike and Sparkplug recognized their restaurant companions. After laughing hysterically for over an hour, they annotated their photo album with mocking comments and dropped it off at the spacebridge after blowing said bridge up.

At their underwater base, the jubilant Decepticons swapped their adventures. Dirge tried to show everybody his pictures of Starscream doing silly human things, but alas, the camera was missing. ("Oh, darn!" Starscream observed smugly.) Dirge, Dead End, Breakdown, and Wildrider found that although their mental maladies had returned, they weren't nearly as bad as they had been previously. They accepted that the maladies were built into their personalities, and decided that with time and effort, they would one day conquer their mental problems entirely. Everybody laughed at everybody else, and so nobody was too humiliated, even when they found out that the magazine with the article about post '84 Autobots was a phony...at least, they weren't humiliated until they found the Autobot scrapbook by the destroyed spacebridge. Secretly, Ravage revisited the home of his seven year old owner to say goodbye, and equally secretly the four "crazy" Decepticons gratefully dropped off a bouquet of flowers (this being the universal hospital gift) at the clinic. Starscream anonymously left a clump of uprooted sunflowers in the clinic fountain, expecting Janice to connect them to his nickname "Sunshine." She did, and cracked up laughing. Skywarp captured Rumble and Frenzy and dragged them all the way back to the mansion just so that he could gleefully dunk them into the pool, and after a water fight that Ms. Plumhill watched through her binoculars, deciding in the process that this time she really had seen everything, Skywarp admitted to the two cassettes that they would be a match for him if they were his size. Thundercracker and Skywarp made peace with Thrust and Ramjet, but the truce lasted only one minute before both groups laughed evilly and gloated that they would take the other group by surprise now that their guard was down. The Constructicons bought themselves $50,000 worth of Legos and remained in their workshop for a week, concocting version 2.0 of the Lego monsters. The Combaticons were so happy to be robots again that they were actually peaceful and agreeable and pleasant with each other for a whole hour. Swindle continued talking on his cell phone, until one of his teammates ripped it away from him, stomped on it, and demanded that he rejoin the rest of the world. The Insecticons finally realized what the funny feeling they got in their stomachs every time they ate at an "all you can eat buffet" was: fullness. After eating half of Megatron's throne, they were promptly kicked out of the base and went cackling off to Bali to resample their favorite cuisines. Lastly, Soundwave was very proud of his cassettes, and after being told by Rumble and Frenzy that he deserved the real credit for bringing everybody home, he was quietly proud of himself too. He placed the WOT in storage and returned to his station to work. 

 

The end. :)


	2. Starscream Writes a Fanfic

Starscream switched to the LOLcats tab, but it was too late—Megatron had seen.

"So you're the one who's been flaming me!" Megatron snarled. "I should have known!"

"Me?" Starscream asked, putting a hand to his canopy. "Flame your fanfics? I never read that junk myself."

"Unless, it's about you," muttered Sideswipe. The mutter was loud enough to be heard across the whole Decepticon command center.

Even the Autobots sometimes got tired of staring at the optic-searing yellow walls of their base. When it got bad enough that they started to squint, they would flee to the dim purple sanctuary of Decepticon HQ. Beachcomber liked to make the experience even more restful by playing whale melodies over the intercom.

Such things were not out of the ordinary in the metaverse, an extradimensional realm that existed outside of such artificial concepts as time, space, Autobot, Decepticon, canon and fanon. All Transformers, from the lowliest fanmade character to G1 Optimus Prime himself, found a home somewhere in the vast dimension that was not a dimension. Since they didn't have to fight, the transformers had plenty of time to devote to other activities, like cruising fanfiction sites. Some had even started writing fanfics, or as they preferred to call them, "autobiographical sketches."

"Unlike some people, leader, I don't read fanfics—much less write them," Starscream said. "I have better things to do with my time than wallowing in the angsty longings of fourteen year old girls."

"Then why does that tab say 'Fanfiction.net'?"

"Soundwave must have left it open," Starscream said. He closed the fanfiction.net tab, then the Archive of Our tab, and finally the DeviantArt tab. "There, that's better. Now that I've gotten all those extra tabs cleaned up, I can get back to what I was doing. Haha—look at this picture of ninja cat peeking out of a box."

"Tell me Starscream. If all you're doing is squandering our precious bandwidth on cat pictures, then why do you need to use the Tor anonymity browser to do it?" Megatron asked. The Decepticon leader stabbed an accusing finger at the quasi-Firefoxlike internet browser.

Starscream's fingers stiffened on the keyboard. He replied nonchalantly, "The web filter is too restrictive. I just wanted a quick workaround--"

"Lies! Only trolls use Tor!"

"That's not true!" Starscream protested. "I just use it because I don't want to be tracked by advertisers."

Sideswipe chimed in helpfully, "Hey, I thought one of the main uses of Tor was so that anonymous bloggers living in oppressive countries could safely criticize their cruel, repressive leaders online."

Megatron's optics began to glow. "Thank you, Sideswipe, for that illuminating explanation of how a hypothetical citizen might use Tor to troll their rightful liege and master."

Starscream gave a nervous chuckle. "Sideswipe, why don't you go back to the Autobot base. You must be getting tired of all this purple."

"I like it here. There's less rules," Sideswipe said.

"Well, Starscream? What do you have to say for yourself?" Megatron demanded. His fusion canon charged up with a whine.

Starscream threw up his hands. "Fine, go ahead, kill me. It won't make your fanfics any better. And I can still access the omninet as a ghost."

"You disgust me," Megatron said. "Not only are you the lowest form of cyberlife, a skulking, cowardly troll, but you couldn't write your way out of a paper bag. You criticize my writing, and yet you would be fortunate indeed if one of those fourteen year old girls wasted five minutes of their time on your writing. Great fanfics take talent—far more talent than posting childish insults."

"I could write a better fanfic than you any day!" Starscream snapped. "It's just that I—"

"Spare me your empty boasts. You couldn't get a review if your life depended on it. You'll never be anything but a second-rate hack." He turned on his heel and stomped out of the command center.

Starscream glowered after the retreating back.

 

* * *

 

Alone in his quarters, the Seeker tried to console himself.

"I have way more fangirls than him. He's jealous of my popularity."

It didn't make him feel any better to think that Megatron's last fanfic—a fictional account of how a certain Decepticon leader had defeated the Autobots and singlehandedly slain Unicron—had gotten 400 rave reviews.

"Megatron is a fool!" Starscream cried. "I could be a better writer than him any day."

Well, if he couldn't crush Megatron's ego with flames, then he would at least post embarrassing pictures of his leader with hilarious captions. Smirking, he turned on his computer and opened the omninet.

He noticed that he had an e-mail—it was a new fanfic notification from ff.net. He opened it. His jaw dropped.

"This is libel!"

 

_Fail, Fail Again, by Megatron_Supreme_Leader_of_the_Decepticons_

Starscream is a complete and utter joke as Megatron's second in command. Will he ever accomplish anything, or will he be a total loser with delusions of grandeur forever? Eventual character death.

Transformers/Beast Wars – Rated: M – English – Humor/Angst – Chapters: 1 – Words 928 – Reviews: 8 – Updated: 4-23-13 – Published: 4-23-13 – Starscream Megatron

 

"Eight reviews already?!" Starscream shrieked. "Who would read this tripe! It's all lies! Putrid lies!" Without even bothering to start up Tor, he opened the fanfic and skimmed to the bottom so that he could start a review:

 

HOW ****STUPID**** ARE YOU? EVERYONE KNOWS STARSCREAM IS THE MOST BRILLIANT DECEPTICON *****EVER***** AND WOULD MAKE A BETTER LEADER THAN MEGATRON EVER COULD!!!!!1 ONLY SOMEONE WITH THE PROCESSOR OF A ROCK COULD THINK OTHERWISE!! WHY DONT YOU GO BACK TO BACK TO THE TWILIGHT FANDOM AND STOP WASTING EVERYONES TIME WITH THIS WORTHLESS TRASH?

 

He stabbed the submit button and sat there, seething. Then, unwillingly, he opened the review page. His own review hadn't been posted yet, but there was still plenty to see:

 

Megafan 4/23/13 . chapter 1  
lolz at Starscream! He's lucky Megatron keeps him around! ;P

 

Brenda444 4/23/13 . chapter 1

This was a great story. Starscream will never learn, will he? The more I read your stories, the more I love Megatron. XD Look's like Screamer's gonna be spending a lot of time in the repair bay!

 

IceScream 4/23/13 . chapter 1

You win the interwebz for this chapter. Great job, keep it up. (P.S. Is it weird that I find it funny when Starscream gets hurt?)

 

Batcat 4/23/13 . chapter 1

Starscream is so pathetic and whiny. How could he even think that he could beat Megatron? Starscream = stupid, lol. Can't wait for the next chapter!

 

Megatron4Ever 4/23/13 . chapter 1

Oooooooh I love Megatron so much. I can't wait to see what happens to Starscream next. Please hurry and write the next chapter I can't stand it!!!!

 

Starscream shot the computer with his null ray. He stood up and howled, _"_ _You_ _'_ _ll pay for this_ _!"_

 

It took fully an hour for his rage to subside, by which time his entire room looked like it had been redecorated by Rumble's piledrivers. Fuming, Starscream sank into his chair and glowered at the screen. How could the humans be so blind? How could they not realize that Megatron was the real fool, and that he, Starscream, was the true genius destined to lead the Decepticons to victory? ...And worse, how could they not realize the Megatron's fictional portrayal of himself was nothing but a grandiose Gary Stu, a blatant self insertion, a shallow, self-absorbed exercise in egostroking?

"It's disgusting!" Starscream said. If only there was a way to open the fans' eyes to the truth!

And then, unexpectedly, a way came to him. A sinister smile blossomed on his dark face.

 

Writing a fanfic turned out to be easier than Starscream had thought. He used a word processor to write it on. First he wrote the beginning, then the middle, then the end. Then he opened fanfiction.net, added a blurb, and posted his story.

 

_How Starscream the Mighty Killed Megatron and Took His Rightful Place As Leader of the Decepticons, by Starscream_True_Leader_of_the_Decepticons_

For a mech as brilliant, handsome and courageous as Starscream, it's all in a days work to kill Megatron, seize control of the Decepticons, conquer Earth, defeat the Autobots, and kill Unicron. THIS IS MY FIRST STORY REVIEW OR ELSE!!!!!!!

Transformers/Beast Wars – Rated: M – English – Drama – Chapters: 1 – Words 2569 – Published: 4-24-13 – Starscream Megatron

 

Starscream stared in awe at his first fanfic ever. There was something fascinating about seeing his own writing published on the internet. He read his story over and over, marvelling at the beauty of the language, the soul-wringing drama of the dialogue, the fascinating exploration of deep moral issues, and finally the epic climax where Megatron's twitching hand sank below the surface of the slag pit. He refreshed the page to see if there was a review (none yet), then read it all over again. How could something so wonderful have sprung from his own fingertips? The fanfic would go viral overnight—the next day it would be receiving critical acclaim in literary circles—and finally, the Nobel Prize.

An hour passed sweetly by in delicious fantasies. He refreshed again, waiting for the praise to begin showering in. Oddly, no one had commented yet. Starscream supposed that all the TF fans must be at work or school; when they came home the reviews would start. The hours passed five minutes at a time as he refreshed the browser. Finally he cleared the cache to make sure that he had the most up-to-date version of the page, then checked his e-mail account to look for notifications that might have been received by the fanfiction.net server but not yet posted. He stared at the fanfic's traffic graph all night.

By morning he had gotten five visitors and overenergized. He lay on his recharge berth, cursing Megatron and fanfiction sites and the heartlessness of teenage girls until he had drunk the cup of self pity to the bitter dregs. Starscream could tolerate insults and abuse—it was all attention—but being ignored was utterly unbearable. For the first time in his entire life, he felt small and insignificant. No one cared about him. No one liked him. He was _nothing_.

There was only one thing to do. He opened the fanfic and inserted a comment at the top: IF I DONT GET TEN REVIEWS BY TOMORROW I WONT POST ANY MORE CHAPTERS!!!!! I'M SERIOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111!!

An hour passed, then two. He threw himself back on his recharge slab and gave into despair.

When he awoke later, the first thing he did was check for reviews. There was a new e-mail. It was from fanfiction.net! Without bothering to open it he went to his story and refreshed. 2 reviews! He gave a whoop and opened the reviews page.

 

Megatron_Supreme_Leader_of_the_Decepticons 4/25/13 . chapter 1

Pathetic.

 

Skyfire123 4/25/13 . chapter 1

I enjoyed this story very much. I think it's good that you have an outlet. Nice job. Sincerely, your best friend.

 

For a moment Starscream just sputtered. Megatron's review made him want to turn the Decepticon leader into disassociated paticles. Skyfire's review made him want to put his face down on his desk and weep. As a compromise, he blasted the computer.

Then he went for a long, soothing flight. This was going to be harder than he had thought.

 

Anyone who thought that insults and humilation would deter Starscream for long didn't know Starscream. By the time he returned to his quarters he was brimming over with gleeful optimism and boundless self confidence.

"Megatron won't know what hit him!" he said, cackling as he opened the word processor and began to type.

It must be said that it was not mere intelligence that had vaulted Starscream to the position of Air Commander. Rather, it was his unusually strong ability to disregard repeated failures and see only the brightest possible picture of his own future achievements. Like the true optimist he was, he did not bog down in regrets or self pity, but instead attacked from another angle with renewed vigor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, I'm not a troll. ;) I am a TOR supporter, though--for the whole freedom of speech in oppressive countries thing.


	3. The Battle of Solarlux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place in an AU past where Skyfire was not lost in the arctic, and consequently Starscream (and Skyfire) joined the Autobots. In this story, I postulated that Cybertron has a very slow rotation rate, where one day lasts a whole year. Consequently, part of the planet is in total darkness for half the year while the other half gets constant light.

It was a week before Sunrise, and the command center was abuzz with tense activity. Knots of people stood around pointing at the gigantic tactical map displayed on the viewscreen, discussing unit placements in quick, short voices. Bustling adjutants scurried in and out carrying datapads and equipment, while at each computer terminal in the vast golden cavern a specialist was busily engaged in organizing the last minute details of the vast operation to come--the great harvest of solar energy from the star that the Autobot-controlled section of Cybertron would shortly be facing.

When Dawn came, solar panels would be deployed underneath protective forcefields to gather the morning light, and much-needed energy would be gathered that would prove vital to stalling the rapid Decepticon advances in the shallow northern sector of Cybertron.

On the upper level of the command center, in front of the huge tactical map, Optimus Prime and Prowl were going over the newest information on the nearby Decepticon activities.

"The intelligence reports show more build-up in Phrixus and Castra," Prowl reported, skimming quickly through the latest communiques, "They've got new hovertanks and fast attack vehicles, and several air transports and troop carriers have arrived--looks like they expect to bring up additional reinforcements soon. Skywarp and his wings are reported to be traveling to Castra from Aeron, and it's still anybody's guess where Megatron will turn up."

Optimus nodded; this fit what they had been expecting--a massive attack on the solar panels from the Decepticon strongholds to the east. The Decepticons would come through the wasteland between Castra and Phrixus to attack what had been dubbed Solarlux, the compact fortress city that had sprung up around the solar panel construction project. Solarlux was well prepared for the upcoming attack; dense anti-aircraft defenses had been installed throughout the complex, while deeply buried forcefield generators were set up so as to be able to draw their energy directly from the solar panels which they would be shielding as soon as the panel came online--a necessity, since the current energon shortage wouldn't allow the forcefields to run throughout the Day otherwise. Besides the forcefields, every other possible preparation had been made for a prolonged seige. Energon, munitions, parts, and untold quantities of building materials were stockpiled at underground depots connected by a spiderweb of transport tubes and antigrav lifts, all destined to provide support to the fortress' first line of defense--the great mass of troops which was quartered underneath the city, mustered over the last year in anticipation of a coming strike. The Decepticons had actually been expected to attack several months earlier, during the period when forcefields were being set up in preparation to lay out the panels, yet no attack had come; this was presumably because Megatron intended to first collect energy from his own solar panels during the time when the sun shone on the Decepticon-controlled areas of Cybertron, with the result that his forces would now be able to make their assault on Solarlux fully charged and at their peak performance.

Optimus brought up the map of Solarlux's eastern defenses, considering the implications of the new reports. The Decepticons apparently expected to strike hard and fast, but they should stall under the low defensive forcefields which were layed out across the perimeter of the eastern wasteland; the area was mined as well, and should provide a formidable obstacle to attackers of the nonflying type. As for attackers of the flying type, an aerial assault from Skywarp's fighters had been anticipated from the first, and had been provided for in the form of missile launchers, interceptor drones, and other assorted countermeasures that could transform the sky into a deadly storm of metal and fire. The only thing left to do was to decide out how to deploy the remarkable gathering of defensive and offensive tools at their disposal--and this must be finished within the week, before Sunrise came.

"Alright," Optimus said, pointing to a spot on the south-eastern side of the fortress where the layers of forcefields were thinnest, "Let's assume that the Decepticons will make their initial attack through here..."

  


"We fight a cruel and merciless adversary," Starscream remarked, pacing in a tight circle in the only free space left in the hangar.

"The bureaucracy?" Skyfire guessed easily.

"The bureaucracy!" Starscream exploded. "Now they're telling me they don't even have any Seeker parts in storage!"

"There are only fifty-four aerial vehicles in the whole of the defense force, whereas there are over five thousand ground vehicles. It's to be expected, I'm afraid..." Skyfire reminded him patiently. The daily ritual was playing itself out in the accustomed way: At the beginning of each shift, Starscream would leave the hangar with a to-do list of things that were needed to get the squadron into fighting condition. And at the end of each shift Starscream would return with little to nothing done and vent his ever increasing frustration with the system to Skyfire and any other members of the unit who might be present. Eventually, the rest of the squadron would arrive from whatever busywork had been assigned to them, make themselves comfortable on the missile boxes, and begin to enjoy the nice, quiet exercise in futility of entertaining themselves in a non-energy-intensive way (like arguing about who had more space) while Starscream yelled at them to be careful around the missiles. It was to Skyfire a depressing way to spend the war, but at least it was better than the live combat they had been in at the northern front. Over there, a typical day revolved around repairing or being repaired--unless of course they had to fly a mission, in which case the squadron would typically fly out together in formation but return limping back to the airbase, one by one.

Skyfire himself did not typically participate in these aerial sorties unless there was a desperate need; his cargo jet vehicular form, although armed and heavily shielded, was simply not suited to engaging the more maneuverable Decepticon Seekers, and as a result he found himself in an increasingly supportive role. This meant that he was usually the one who would go around quietly but persistently working his way through the many intricate layers of bureaucracy, reminding the masses of officials that yes, a squadron of flying Autobots was part of the group assigned to the combat area, and yes, the squadron did fall within their particular area of jurisdiction, and yes, that did mean that they had to cough up part of their precious supplies for it. And most of the time the officials would grudgingly acquiese. For Skyfire, such tasks were inane but infinitely preferable to killing or being killed. For Starscream, however, the bureaucracy was an evil growth, and to hear him describing his struggles with it one would almost imagine fighting the Decepticons to be a pleasant and relaxing activity.

Unfortunately, once the squadron had been transferred to Solarlux, no one seemed to know or care about what to do with a curious group of Autobot flyers, and worse still, no one would pay attention or attach any authority to anything that wasn't specifically authorized by the squadron commander, who happened to be Starscream. And therefore Starscream alone was left with the responsibility of making people know and care about the needs of said small group of flyers, and even this task was complicated by the fact that due to a typo somewhere deep within the database, his name had been listed as Starstream instead of Starscream. So while this error was being processed (hopefully it would be resolved within the next day or two, but Skyfire somehow doubted it) Starscream had to convince every single official he talked to that he really was the unit commander before they would do anything for him. And the frustration climbed.

"Why did they transfer us here if they didn't have any of the supplies we needed?" Starscream demanded of nobody in particular. Skyfire just shrugged; sometimes there was just no fathoming the workings of the system, even for him. "And then there's the missile situation!" Starscream burst out anew, swiping a hand at the five hundred metal boxes of Exoburst missiles that were piled up around the room. Some unknown admin had apparently decided that the squadron's headquarters was a warehouse and had ordered it filled to brim with munitions in spite of all their protestations to the contrary. "I tried all day to get somebody to take responsibility for putting them here, or at least for getting rid of them, but it's a circle of blame! The Parts depot says the missiles are in the section controlled by Supplies and Consumables, and Supplies and Consumables claims that missiles are in the jurisdiction of the Ordnance and Munitions Department, and the Ordnance and Munitions Department says that the Parts depot was supposed to take care of storing the excess armanents!"

"I would think the Ordnance and Munitions Department would be the best place to try," Skyfire suggested quietly, trying his best to be helpful.

"That's what I finally did," Starscream said ruefully, "And after standing in line for two hours I managed to wring an agreement out of them that they would move the boxes out in three weeks if they were able to get the proper authorities to sign off on it. Oh, and now they're sending a safety inspector down here to make sure there's proper signage up." Skyfire sighed inwardly; it was apparent that the Exobursts weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

"So were you able to find our missiles?" he asked finally, not expecting good news there either. The squadron's special air-to-air munitions, a variety of agile, heat-seeking Airstalkers, computer-controlled multitarget Polydrones, cluster bombs (Starscream's favorite), flares for countermeasures, and a wide variety of assorted personal armanents had all regrettably been lost in transit on their way down from the northern sector.

"Sadly I have," Starscream said sourly, turning around and pacing counterclockwise. "They're on Level 8 in Munitions Depot 15, buried under nine thousand boxes of incendiary bombs."

"Ah, I see," Skyfire merely commented. Then the armanents might as well be stored in Decepticon-controlled Castra for all the chance they would have of getting at them. If they were lucky, maybe they would be able to retrieve them once most of the incendiary bombs had been used up. Which would happen, say, about the time Dusk came. At last Starscream threw himself onto a crate and sighed deeply, a depressed look coming onto his face,

"They'll do anything I want, Skyfire--but not until after Sundown, because before then they claim they don't have time to deal with 'special requests.'" A note of bitter irony accentuated the last two words. Skyfire nodded sympathetically; what else could he do?

"Well, we tried." They were silent for a few moments, absorbed in their own thoughts, until finally the door to the hangar slid open and a few members of the squadron trickled in together, laughing noisily about something. Spotting Starscream, the first one, a small black and white fighter named Backtalk, waved and called out,

"Well, what news, O fearless one? Has your glorious battle with the treacherous bureaucracy yielded the crowning rewards of success?" Backtalk had a gift, or perhaps a disability, in that he was unable to speak without sounding like a bad propaganda broadcast.

"Alas, a harsh defeat," Starscream said, a slight smile coming to his lips. "The Exoburst missiles are staying, while our missiles have been found in Munitions Depot 15 but are buried, and there are no aircraft parts in the entire city." Groans from the other two bots greeted the announcement. "Now, have you finished helping Quasarpulse fix that targeting system?" Starscream queried.

"Almost," said Aerodyne, a blue and yellow mech, "There was another problem with the target display screen that had to be dealt with--it wasn't talking to the main computer."

"They weren't on speaking terms," added the green and black Seeker, aka Lift, with a wry grin. Lift liked to pretend that all inanimate objects had feelings and wills, and generally attributed malfunctions to their displeasure. Skyfire wasn't sure if Lift really believed it or not.

The door opened again and more mechs trickled in. Now that the shift was done the group would have a few hours to themselves before recharge. Under normal circumstances the time was spent flying together or playing some form of game, but now, due to the energon rationing, about the only thing they could do was to sit around and chat, or rather, argue. Which usually began immediately

Skyfire watched the doors, waiting for the squadron medics to show up. He needed to have to have a talk with Shocktherapy about what they were going to do about the missing parts; it was about the only thing they couldn't make do without. Meanwhile, the first shot was fired:

"Alright, who piled boxes in my spot?" Airburst demanded irritably, pointing at a perfect pyramid of Exoburst boxes that had been constructed for entertainment purposes the day before.

"We did," someone else, hidden by more boxes, shouted from a distant area of the hangar, "And it's not your spot. And don't move them, we spent a lot of time making that."

"It is so my spot! I've been sitting here for the last two weeks," Airburst insisted.

"Actually, it was my spot until you took it over," Storm Eye rumbled.

"For the last time, there are no spots!" Starscream screeched. "Now put those boxes back in the order you found them in. There's a safety inspector coming and I don't want him to find you've been using the ordnance as building blocks!" Skyfire happened to be looking at the doorway at that moment, and as a result he was the first to see an unfamiliar red and yellow robot step inside.

"You must be the safety inspector," he exclaimed quickly, mostly to warn the others. The safety inspector's blue visor glanced sharply at him, and then swept across the room, instantly vaporizing all smiles and conversation.

"Yes, I am," the safety inspector finally replied, "Who's the commander here?"

"Me," Starscream replied quickly, standing up quickly and threading his way through the scattered boxes to the doorway. "And you would be...?"

"Safetyfirst." Seeming to puff himself up, Safetyfirst adopted an cold, clipped tone and asked, "Are you aware of exactly how many violations of the missile storage protocol I'm seeing here?" Skyfire had to stifle a grin. The mech was a perfect stereotypical regulatory inspector, right down to his tone of voice.

"Illuminate me. How many?" Starscream drawled back, folding his arms and staring indolently down at the shorter robot. Skyfire knew that a person would get nothing out of Starscream by adopting the rather patronizing confrontational tactic that the safety inspector was taking. There were very few things his friend hated more than being talked down to.

"Nine," Safetyfirst said in an annoyed voice, "In storage and stacking code violations alone. In addition, I see unruly behavior (P.1, section 0, pg. 85), unnecessary movement of munitions by nonauthorized personnel (B.8, section 23, pg. 12), and an attempt to hide said activities from a safety inspector (E.7, section 159, pg. 520)."

"Amazing," Starscream said in a tone of exaggerated disbelief, "Did we do all of that?" Skyfire winced mentally; his friend was just digging his own grave. He could be very good at that sometimes. The safety inspector scowled and inserted his finger into the I/O socket of the datapad he was carrying.

"Your violations have all been reported to the Parts depot," he said crisply, "and the appropriate punishments (extra duty hours, energon cuts as feasible, see Disciplinary Code Sections 3.4, 8.92, and subsection 5 of the Infraction Protocol) will shortly be carried out."

"Oh, the Parts depot?" said Starscream, a gleeful grin suddenly spreading across his face, "but are you sure that Supplies and Consumables doesn't have jurisdiction here? Or perhaps the Ordnance and Munitions Department?"

"The Parts depot has jurisdiction in this section," Safetyfirst said briskly. "Your name, please."

"Starstream. Commander Starstream. With a 't.'"

  


Eighteen megacycles remained till Dawn, yet still the Decepticons had not attacked. Standing and gazing out in silence across the open rooftop at the orange blush of oncoming Dawn, Optimus knew that he should savor the peaceful scene while he could. But now, so close to Morning, the tension was practically crackling in the air. Everyone had been waiting so long for an attack that it was actually going to be a relief when the blow finally did fall. Then at least the waiting would be over, and there would be plenty of work to be done. Right now though--

BOOM!

Optimus whirled around as the crack of an explosion in the east resounded across the wasteland. He peered out across the dark plain, and could pick out a thick cloud of smoke rising from above the Decepticon camp. Was this the opening salvo of the battle, or just another one of their training exercises?

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Three more blasts cracked across the plain, and Optimus could see this was no accident. The bursts were evenly spaced in a line across the eastern front, and flecks of gold--flyers shining in the pale light of Dawn--were swirling about in the distance. But why were the salvos being detonated directly above the Decepticons' own lines?

As more explosions echoed through the air, he hurried back to the elevator and descended into the command center. Everyone was talking at once, and immediately when people caught sight of him everyone seemed to want to know what was happening and if this was the "real" thing.

"Everyone, back to your stations," he said loudly and sternly. "We'll find out what the Decepticons are planning soon enough." The crowd parted and dispersed and he moved quickly up to the upper level where Ironhide and Prowl and a few other key staff members were waiting. Without waiting for the question, Ironhide launched into a report,

"We've got massive explosions all along the east, in a big line," he drew a line in the air for emphasis, "right above the Decepticons' camp. But nothing near us or the solar panels," he ended in a puzzled tone.

"Intimidation maybe?" Prowl offered, but they could tell it didn't fit. The Decepticons weren't in the habit of making a show of their strength before attacking; rather, they hoped their numbers would be underestimated. Meanwhile another long chain of explosions went up, this time muffled by the levels of metal above the underground command center.

"It's along the same line as before," Ironhide noted, pointing up at the main viewscreen where each new explosion registered as a tiny yellow star. The blasts were indeed all in a very long straight row--had it been layed out across Solarlux, it could easily have spanned the whole complex with its kilometers of solar panels, and would still have had room to spare.

"Some sort of signal or reference point perhaps," Optimus speculated, although he couldn't see how it would be useful. The explosions continued.

  


"When are we gonna see some action?" Airburst finally erupted, and an agreeing chorus of dissatisfaction rose in the Hangar. The comm channels were abuzz with the news about the strange explosions that were going on at the surface--nobody seemed to know what they meant--and the suspense of waiting and wondering was becoming unbearable...that and the fact that they had been stuck underground twiddling their thumbs for two months. That and the fact that to save energon, they had been practically unable to leave the ground for the same amount of time. That and the fact that they relaxed on top of bombs.

"Patience!" Starscream snapped up at him, then resumed pacing restlessly through his maze of crates. He had found himself almost unable to stop moving once he started; he was sick of waiting in queues and at depots and desks, and of being stuck in the cramped hangar far away from the sky, and his frustration translated itself into unceasing motion. Normally he would have burnt his aggravation off by tearing across the landscape and scaring the daylights out of the ground troops stationed nearby, but with the energy shortages that was no longer an option. So now he paced out elaborate patterns on the floor as the rest of the squadron stared down at him from their perches. The waiting was pure torture!

"I know, let's sing the Seeker Song," chirruped Ballon squeakily.

"No!" Starscream (and about fifteen others) shrieked violently. Balloon huddled back into the crates. Starscream stepped over Skyfire's foot as he prepared to make another round and his friend abruptly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down next to him.

"Relaaaax," Skyfire said in a low, soothing voice. "Save your energy for the fighting."

"If there is any fighting," Starscream hissed, "Megatron doesn't seem in any great hurry to attack, and even if he does, we're in the reserves!"

"Sooner or later they're going to need us," Skyfire said serenely, placing a hand on his arm as he fidgeted uncontrollably. "It's only a matter of time now. Be patient."

"I am patient," Starscream protested quickly, "I simply dislike waiting."

"I said, don't touch my side of the box!" the raspy voice of Warbird could suddenly be heard filtering across the quiet room.

"There are no sides!" Starscream screamed preemptively. One more complaint...! Just one more...!

"Are so," someone else muttered mutinously. Starscream glared venomously around the room, but was unable to locate the culprit.

"Do you remember when you got trapped inside of me for five days after I crashed and caused the mountainside to collapse on top of us?" Skyfire was saying. Starscream remembered it all too well; he, after all, had been the one who was forced to tunnel their way out through one hundred and ninety-eight feet of compacted, sodden, rock-filled soil, while Skyfire provided the only thing he could--moral support. And that was only *after* Starscream had managed to get out of Skyfire to begin with. After being trapped inside his partner's hold for so long, clawing his way up through the dirt had seemed like flying at first. "Would you say that was better or worse than this?" Skyfire asked. Starscream considered.

"Better, much better," he finally concluded, and with a laugh Skyfire smacked him lightly on the side of the head. "What was that for?" Starscream demanded petulantly.

"You told me to hit you if you ever said anything was worse than that," Skyfire said, eyes dancing with barely suppressed merriment. Starscream couldn't help but grin in response; he had forgotten all about his fervently worded request upon reaching the surface, but Skyfire obviously hadn't.

"You've been waiting for your chance," Starscream accused, pretending to glare at his friend.

"One doesn't get that kind of opportunity everyday," Skyfire said, grinning mischievously at him. "I--" The sudden howl of the klaxon drowned out whatever Skyfire had been about to say.

"Units A1 to P572, prepare for combat," echoed an announcement throughout their section. Starscream made a disappointed noise; they were Unit W82, and as such they weren't going anywhere until Units A1 to W81 (the hovertanks, which they were grouped with for some strange reason) had gotten their crack at the 'cons.

"This is so unfair," whined Airburst. "Aerial cover is always helpful! We should be out there now!" Once again, a chorus of irritated agreement rose. Starscream didn't bother to respond to it; he himself was sick and tired of trying to convince stubborn, myopic ground commanders of what fliers had to offer. Always the same, futile responses: "What do you mean, useful? Then why are you the only flying unit I've ever seen?" "We can handle things just fine from the ground, thank you. We always have. I can't support a flying group at the moment." And his personal favorite: "What, are you a bunch of reprogrammed Decepticons or something?" Yet the few units who had been the beneficiaries of the squadron's air protection up on the northern surface sector now swore by it. He sighed deeply. Why couldn't the rest of the world catch on too?

As if to answer his question, the klaxon abruptly cut off and simultaneously the doors to the hangar opened, admitting a tall and heavily built black and midnight blue robot whom Starscream recognized instantly.

"Blackdrop!" He called, standing up; at his side, Skyfire also climbed to his feet. Blackdrop had been one of the few overunit commanders who had been willing accept the supposed "liability" of maintaining and energizing an aerial unit as part of his overunit. Despite initial reservations, he had eventually come to see that decision as being one of the best tactical choices he had ever made.

"Starscream," the other said in a pleased voice, a deep, rumbling purr. "I had heard you fellows were around here somewhere. Ready for the big battle?"

"Ha!" Starscream barked sarcastically.

"Oh dear," Blackdrop rumbled in such a low tone that Starscream could feel the bass vibrating through his circuitry. "What's the problem?"

"Everything," Starscream explained, then added in an annoyed tone, "but mostly the fact that we have no parts or munitions."

"What? How did that happen?" the other commander growled.

"I wish I knew," Starscream grumbled, crossing his arms.

"A shame," Blackdrop said, shaking his head in his slow, deliberate way. "I wanted to ask you what your battle plans for the upcoming seige were. Of course, perhaps if you attached yourself to my overunit, there might be..." here he paused and cocked his head contemplatively, "certain...ways...of finding what you need." The pauses hung heavily in the air, implying everything yet admitting nothing.

"If you could do that," Starscream exclaimed quickly, "I would be your personal shield!" Blackdrop gave a deep, vibration-causing laugh.

"Then I'll see what I can do. Get the list of what you need to my second, Wavefront--you remember him I'm sure--as soon as possible." Starscream instantly pulled the appropriate datapad from subspace and handed it to Blackdrop.

"This is it. You can see where the munitions are stored." Taking the datapad and scanning down the list, Blackdrop shook his massive head and rubbed his chin. "A most difficult order," he finally stated. "But probably possible if one knows what wires to connect." At that point a resounding boom surged through the room.

"Must be getting hot up there," Starscream observed, glancing upwards. The klaxon started up again.

"Units P573 to X99 prepare for battle."

"Isn't that--" Blackdrop started.

"That's us!" burst out Starscream in excitement, his eyes glowing brightly, "Finally, finally!"

"I'll take care of this in the meantime," Blackdrop said quickly, giving him with a rather strange look, "Good luck up there," and he ducked out, leaving them to prepare. Everyone instantly dashed for the antigrav lift and there was a brief tangle as they all struggled to get in at once. Stepping back from the crowd, Starscream turned to Skyfire and said quickly, "Get ready what you can with the medics. And we may need aerial recovery afterward--I don't know that these ground units will know where to look for us when we crash." Skyfire nodded silently in acknowledgement, and Starscream felt a familiar emotion tugging at him--pity. "We should be back in a few hours," he said in as casual and upbeat of a voice as he could manage.

"Be careful," Skyfire said simply, staring at him with his "Could this be the last time I ever see Starscream alive again?" look. Starscream really, truly, hated that look.

"Aren't I always?" Starscream said, attempting to paste on a sunny smile. "I'll be back soon."

"In how many pieces?" Shocktherapy shouted unhelpfully from across the room. But at least it broke up the increasingly uncomfortable seriousness of the moment.

"Why, only one of course!" Starscream returned lightly.

"How big?" Shocktherapy said, completing their usual exchange. Giving Skyfire a "don't worry about it!" look, Starscream turned away and climbed over the boxes to the lift, where the last of the squadron was being drawn upwards in the antigrav beam.

As he stepped in and was borne away, he found himself struggling harder than usual to push back the distracting tangle of cares and problems that had overgrown his mind during the last two months. He hadn't even noticed it consciously till now, but he had been feeling even more stressed here at Solarlux than he had ever felt at the northern front. Skyfire's haunting "look" was the hardest thing to banish, but at last his mind cleared and he felt prepared and focused for the work ahead. It felt good to be moving again, to be really doing something at last. They stepped off briefly at the energon depot to charge up.

"Wow, after being half charged so long this feels great!" Balloon exclaimed enthusiastically, downing an energon cube that looked much too big for her small green form. She was right, Starscream thought amusedly. Having grown accustomed to the weakness of being at half-charge all the the time, he suddenly felt very fast and strong. He revelled in the sensation. Ahh, glorious, sweet energy! They quickly finished charging and headed for the staging point to check in before entering combat.

They arrived in the large golden mustering room shortly. A few other units (all hovertanks) were crowded about doing last minute equipment checks, making the room echo with clanging metal and shouted questions and responses. A tall yellow femme was standing by the door with a datapad. As they entered, she called sharply at them to report the commander's name and unit's number.

"Unit W82, Commander Starscream," he replied quickly.

"I don't think so," said the yellow robot. "You're definitely not a hovertank."

"We're an air unit but we're in the hovertank group," Starscream explained perfunctorily. He was impatient to leave now; the depths of the sky and the thrill of battle were waiting!

"And I don't have a Starscream in here either," the yellow robot added, her voice taking on a slight edge of suspicion as she looked them over, "There aren't supposed to be any air units joining this battle."

"Yet we were called up, were we not? Try under Starstream."

"Oh yes, here we are," said the yellow robot, looking down intently at the pad. "Hold on while I talk with Torrent about this, I'm just sure there's been a mistake here."

"No need, we're charged and ready to go now," Starscream insisted loudly. He suddenly had a bad feeling about this. But the yellow robot ignored him and instead pressed a button on her right shoulder plate.

"Torrent, I've got a, well, call it an air unit--a bunch of jets it looks like--here and they want clearance to enter the battle with the hovertank group. That isn't right, is it?" There was a burst of static and then a shrill, clipped voice piped from the yellow femme's shoulder plate,

"An air unit? Keep them out of it--would distract the gunners."

"Distract the gunners?" Starscream interrupted in disbelief. What unmitigated idiocy! If a gunner couldn't tell an Autobot signature from a Decepticon one, they had no business holding a gun! Torrent continued unaffected,

"Have them return. And tell them not to report out for any further calls without my authorization. Torrent over and out."

"Sorry, you can't go out," the femme said, shaking her head firmly. "Return to your quarters; you will be called directly by your unit number when you are required to report."

"That will be never!" Starscream exploded. This was the final straw! Pivoting on his heel he stalked angrily back to the antigrav lift, the squadron parting quickly before him with surprised looks.

"We're not going out?"

"No, she said we'd distract the gunners."

"That's stupid!"

"I can't believe this! Now they're not even gonna let us fight?!"

"I wanted to fly..."

"Starscream--"

"Enough!" Starscream's shriek cut through all the discordant voices and there was abrupt silence. "We will stay here until I get us transferred back to the northern front." At this, a ragged combination of cheers and groans erupted spontaneously from the group.

  


Skyfire didn't know whether to feel relieved or annoyed when the antigrav lift unexpectedly discharged Starscream and the others. His friend's face was black, and he leapt across the boxes and stomped out the hangar door without giving him so much as a glance as he passed. Off to sulk, Skyfire supposed. He decided he was relieved; given the odds that they would have been facing, the squadron probably would have been shot down within the hour, and he did not enjoy seeing his friends come back in pieces. Or not at all.

"What happened?" he asked Sleet, the nearest bot. Sleet shrugged his grey and white shoulders and quipped,

"We have met the enemy and he is us."

"In other words," Warbird snarled, "they didn't want any fliers involved. Said it would distract the gunners."

"I can't wait to get back to the northern sector," Balloon cried. Ardent affirmations rose from half of the group, grumbles from the rest.

Skyfire listened to it all impassively; morale must be low indeed when the group longed to return to being thrashed by the hoardes of Decepticon fighters swarming over the northern front.

"Well, I suppose now we get to put all of this back," Shocktherapy said wryly, interrupting his train of thought. Skyfire looked up and took in the repair tables and tools that they had just finished laying out and which now needed to be put away. The sight made him doubly glad that the others hadn't been allowed out; while the team's medics had been able to collect stores of all of the life-and-death parts so that swift replacements could be made for the emergency cases, they didn't have as many parts as they needed, and if everyone in the squadron had ended up with a broken fuel pump...

"I suppose so," Skyfire answered after a moment. Looking towards the nearest mechs as he collected an assortment of parts and placed them carefully back into the stasis crate, he asked, "How about helping me to put this away?" Glad to have something to do, at least temporarily, the others joined in.

The real problem they had, Skyfire reflected as he worked, was that there was too little to do and nowhere to go. He knew that if Starscream and the others had been permitted to go flying and work off some of their energy, they would have at least come back--if indeed they did come back--in a much lighter mood. And then there would have been the repairs and restocking and debriefing to take care of, which would have occupied minds and hands for days. As it was though, now they were fully energized, decked out in all of their weapons, and there was no one to fight...except, of course, for each other. While a fresh squabble brewed in the corner, Skyfire almost considered joining Starscream and enjoying a sulk of his own. It would feel so good to just take off and go soaring up through the atmosphere, plunging into the harsh sunlit void so far above them now--silent, vast, peaceful, empty.

"Leggo of my leg, ya big cyberturkey!"

"You're scratching my optic!"

"I'm telling Starscream!" Shaking his head, Skyfire went over to break up the fight before it got any larger.

"Hey, let go of him!"

"Rust bucket--aagh!" Skyfire yanked Warbird out of the flurry and sat him down on the nearest missile crate.

"Cool it," he ordered firmly, then fished out Backtalk and Lift, thrusting them backwards and away. Lift tripped over a crate as he staggered backwards and fell over with a crash, disappearing from view. The remaining four combatants were separated bodily and hustled off to opposite ends of the room, glaring fiercely at each other. "Everyone calm down," Skyfire said loudly, hoping they would listen to him. Fortunately, the group reluctantly obeyed, settling onto their personal crates to take up the waiting again. Sleet helped pull Lift out of the boxes. The green and black Seeker frowned at Skyfire.

"You should be grateful Skyfire's here instead of the Commander," Sleet simply remarked with a smirk. Starscream, of course, would have separated the fight with a few shots of his null ray on low power, and then set the offenders to the most menial and dull tasks he could find (he had a sort of evil gift that way, Skyfire had to admit). But everybody knew that Skyfire was too nice to do that, which was probably what had allowed the fight to get started in the first place. The large white jet sighed to himself, glancing at his internal chronometer--four megacycles left till recharge. It was, unfortunately, about all that he had to look forward to in the near future.

  


"On organic planets, they say it's always darkest right before dawn," Bumblebee observed, as they stared together across the eastern wasteland.

"I don't think this is what they had in mind," Optimus responded gravely. Across the plain, a line of thick, dark, inky smoke was slowly drifting towards them. The reason for the line of explosions was clear now--they were smoke bombs, meant to create a long curtain of darkness that would gradually be drawn over Solarlux by the light western wind. The Decepticons had no need to conquer the fortress and destroy the solar panels when they could far more easily blot out the sun itself. Then when Solarlux's stored energy was at last exhausted, and the defenses failed for lack of power, the attackers could swoop in and seize the fortress and solar panels at their leisure. It was a deviously simple plan, and at last it explained the patterns which they had been seeing: except for the initial probing raids, which had easily been driven off by a hovertank barrage and the missile defense systems, the Decepticons were mounting no large scale attacks at all. They were just sitting back and waiting for starvation to do its slow work.

Optimus considered once again the options which had been set before him, wondering if he had made the right decision. They had to prevent the Decepticons from either detonating the smoke bombs or from delivering the smoke to its target. The latter scheme was preferable if it was possible; then the Decepticons would be forced to come to them rather than vice versa, and the hovertanks could fight under the cover of the missile launchers.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be relatively few practical solutions to the problem of removing a large quantity of smoke from the air. They couldn't stop the wind, nor had anyone suggested a means of shifting it. Diverting the path of the smoke with a forcefield barrier would require a prohibitive amount of energy. The last possibility which had been put forward--copious amounts of acid rain which could "wash" the air of its smoke particles--was insatisfactory because acid rain was, after all, acidic, and large quantities would need to be produced. It would soon drain downwards and eat its way into lower levels of the fortress, endangering the whole of the underground city. Then there was the fact that the rain came out of dark clouds anyway, which would overshadow the solar panels as effectively as the smoke for the brief time that it remained.

Reconfirming to himself that all the avenues for stopping the smoke were indeed dead ends, Optimus grimly found that he had arrived once again at the conclusion he had already chosen--stopping the smoke producers on their own territory. It was looking like they would have to take the fight to the Decepticons.

 

"I'm afraid that the tactical situation looks rather dark," Blackdrop said to his two visitors. They were currently standing in a small briefing room, Skyfire kneeling down to accomodate the low ceiling. Blackdrop frowned to himself at the sight; had he known Starscream was going to bring his rather large aide along, he would have chosen a bigger meeting place.

"No puns please," Starscream said curtly, while a sort of half-smirk played across Skyfire's lips--apparently more for Starscream's remark than for the pun. "Not a word," Starscream added to his aide, casting a glance over at the other mech.

"In-joke?" Blackdrop asked questioningly.

"We've heard the "dark" one before," Skyfire explained in an amused tone.

"Eight times now," Starscream complained.

"Sorry," Blackdrop said, cocking his head in amusement and studying them. The Autobot fliers he had met since coming online in the service of Optimus Prime were an interesting bunch of machines, and as a student of battlefield psychology he found he rather enjoyed watching them simply to see how they would react to things. Both mechs currently wore rather harrowed looks, which Blackdrop didn't understand--after all, hadn't Starscream said that they were being held back from the battle? Then again, Starscream was one of the most fanatical individuals that Blackdrop had ever met. Perhaps being held back was the reason he was looking so harried. But then, what about Skyfire? A complete inversion of Starscream, the aide very seldom participated in the fighting, and from what few conversations they had shared, he seemed to have considerable distaste for violence of any kind. He was probably secretly pleased that his unit hadn't been allowed to fight. Blackdrop suddenly wondered if Starscream's choice of assistants had been deliberate, or if Skyfire had been assigned to him against his wishes to provide a foil for his aggressiveness. Either way, the combination seemed to work--the performance of Starscream's unit on the northern front had proved that point.

"We're trying to get reassigned to the northern sector," Starscream began, "and I want your recommendation on the backtransfer."

"You want to go back to the northern front?" Blackdrop rumbled, his voice taking on a note of disbelief. He didn't think even Starscream was that crazy. "They're being overrun."

"Good. Then there'll be something for us to do."

"You like the medical bay that much?"

"Better than here," Starscream said shortly. Blackdrop looked over to Skyfire to see his reaction. The larger jet didn't seem enthused about the prospect; he knelt silently, face impassive. Blackdrop could not imagine him wishing to return to that ferocious action.

"What if they need you here?" Blackdrop pressed, hoping to make the other reconsider. While he could certainly understand Starscream's frustration with the way his situation was being handled, trying to get backtransferred to what was rapidly becoming the worst front in the war hardly seemed like a reasonable course of action. Starscream just laughed sourly and replied,

"Of course they need us. They simply refuse to admit it."

"Have you--"

"Yes. I've done everything but bribe Optimus Prime."

"Because he wouldn't take it?" Skyfire asked, smiling at last.

"Precisely," Starscream smirked. Blackdrop chuckled, then offered in a more serious tone,

"Well, if you're sure you've tried everything..." Nodding, Starscream pulled a datapad out of subspace.

"If you can--" Suddenly a furious beeping blasted out of the intercom and the familiar high-pitched voice of Hotrunner, the group commander of the fast attack vehicles, announced,

"Units VV18 and DR20, report for duty."

"We'll do this later," Blackdrop said quickly, jumping up. "That's my unit, we're in the big offensive you know. Wish you could come, fellows. So sorry. I'll be back soon." He rushed out the door. As it closed behind him he could hear a muffled sound of exasperation from Starscream.

  


Four days later, Blackdrop had not come back. The offensive had gone off rather poorly, and the overunit commander was now among the missing. As such, it was impossible to get his all-important signature on the backtransfer recommendation.

"Bah," Starscream said half-heartedly, as they made their way back to the Hangar, pausing and stepping aside from time to time to let hurrying vehicles race by. As they stood there plastered against the wall, waiting for a column of light strike vehicles to pass [repeat], the Seeker muttered, "It seems fate is against us, Skyfire."

"You know, some people would call being prevented from getting a transfer to the northern front--" Skyfire began.

"Stay away from the northern front," warned a yellow and orange vehicle as it sped past. "Death and danger! Death and danger!"

"Shut up, Half Light," a dark red vehicle growled in reply.

"Ha!" Starscream interrupted, slamming a fist into his open hand as the last of the vehicles trickled around the corner. "This fortress is nothing but a giant dungeon! And it would be a lot easier to escape from if it really were one!"

"But the northern sector?" Skyfire pressed. He was still trying to talk Starscream out of the plan, but the other was dead set on getting out of Solarlux, even if it meant going back to the most miserable front in the war. If they could have gotten transferred to, say, the shallow southeastern sector or perhaps the shallow western polar front, Skyfire wouldn't have minded a bit, but going back to the northern sector was sounding like an increasingly bad plan, and it hadn't been the best idea to begin with.

"Well, at least the Electron Chasm has a nice view--" Starscream quipped.

"I think that was captured."

"Then we'll recapture it."

It was hard, Skyfire reflected, to argue with someone who refused to use logic.

"But Starscream," he said, managing to keep his voice mild in spite of his growing impatience, "They don't have energy over there either. We would still be grounded unless we were fighting."

"There won't be any shortage of that."

"For you maybe," Skyfire remarked, and quickly regretted it. An uncomfortable silence descended instantly over the conversation. Skyfire knew that Starscream knew that several discomfitting facts were becoming increasingly loud the longer they remained unsaid. The truth was that Skyfire was simply not happy much anymore, and it wasn't simply due to the fact they were stuck under Solarlux. And Starscream...? He peered over at his friend, who was staring straight forward down at the deck plates, avoiding eye contact. Starscream would be perfectly content in his new life as a soldier, he knew, if only Skyfire could be also. But Skyfire couldn't be, and so Starscream wasn't either. And Skyfire knew that he couldn't afford to admit it to the other, lest he make things worse. If he revealed the true extent of his dissatisfaction, Starscream would attempt to move heaven and earth to make him content. But that wasn't something Skyfire wanted the other to be burdened with, not to mention the fact that Starscream wouldn't have been successful anyway. The things that bothered Skyfire the most were the very things that were the farthest out of Starscream's--and everyone's--control. No, better for Starscream to at least enjoy the illusion (such that it was) that his friend was getting along alright. It was an increasingly thin and ragged illusion, but Skyfire would do his best to keep it going as long as possible. And besides, who knew? Maybe he really would adjust to the war someday.

"When's our next leave scheduled?" Starscream's abrupt query broke into his thoughts.

"186 days," Skyfire returned without hesitation.

"We have about a month saved up, right?" Skyfire nodded in affirmation. "So let's get as far away from here as we can." Skyfire peered over at his friend, reading in his blue optics the simple desire to fix the situation the best he knew how. He was unexpectedly touched by the sentiment.

"You're thinking of the midwestern sector?" Skyfire asked, looking warmly at his friend.

"I was thinking more along the lines of the Hyperbolic nebula," Starscream remarked, smiling amusedly back.

  


Over the next few days, they followed the progress of the ground units' offensive with increasing concern. Dawn had come, but darkness still shrouded the city with an ominous pall of smoke.

"Kind of adds a whole new meaning to the phrase "fog of war," eh?" remarked Friction, a red and grey escort fighter, holding his hand out in front of his face. The smoke had infiltrated everything; the corridors, the Hangar, the transport tubes--all were hazy and dim. They could barely distinguish each other across the room. It was, at least, something new to look at.

"I'm going to make a no puns rule," Starscream observed dryly, aiming and throwing a small piece of metal at the indistinct wall across from the room. A rough tactical map had been scratched out across it, showing Solarlux and the Decepticon lines as best they could figure them out, along with some unaffectionate portrayals of Skywarp and Megatron. The shrapnel ricocheted perfectly off of Skywarp's forehead and hit Friction in the back of the neck. "Ha, how's that for aim?" Starscream said proudly, leaning back and thowing his feet up on the box in front of him. Friction rubbed his neck and smirked,

"Better than my pun, I guess." He began to fish around in the cracks of the crates, apparently searching for the chunk of metal.

"Any new updates on the tactical situation since yesterday?" Sleet asked from somewhere to the left--there were too many boxes and too much smoke to say exactly where.

"A few," Starscream said in a bored tone. He sat back up and rose to his feet, then clambered over the crates so that he was standing in front of the map. "I will now brief you all," he announced, "on our brilliant offensive strategy." He pointed to a series of squiggles representing the Decepticon lines, "Here, as you can see, are the enemy squiggles." Then, activating the microwelder in his finger, he drew a new line much farther away from Solarlux. "And here is the update for today: we have successfully made the enemy ground units retreat, which of course means nothing because half of the Decepticon army flies. In other news, the weather forecast remains cloudy, with frequent darkness and energon shortages. Any questions?" Balloon eagerly raised her hand. "Yes, Balloon."

"Will we starve to death?"

"Excellent question! Next." He pointed at Aerodyne.

"When are we going back to the northern front?"

"Never. Next." He pointed to Lift.

"What is the meaning of life?"

"Not to annoy your commanding officer with silly questions. Anyone else?" There was no one else. "Expect farther updates as the situation gets worse," Starscream said in dismissal, then climbed back through the crates to the spot he had occupied earlier.

"Your briefings always encourage me so," Sleet remarked, sighing.

"Thank you, I try," Starscream replied sarcastically. "Or perhaps you would prefer the propaganda version?"

"Oh, do your propaganda one!" Aerodyne said, grinning appreciatively.

"Yeah, let's hear it!" Airburst called.

"Very well," Starscream said reluctantly, wishing he hadn't mentioned that. Too late now... He took a moment to compose his thoughts, then began in a voice that rung with confidence, "Once again our victorious forces have driven back the Decepticon invaders. They thought they would attack our forcefields. They thought they would destroy our solar panels. But instead they find themselves under attack! And our daring troops push ever onwards, ever forwards, ever eastward, never flinching in their determination to bring liberation to the beleaguered cities of Phrixus and Castra. The Decepticon cannot understand; how can his all-conquering armies, with which he thought to rule Cybertron, fail? How can he be brought to his knees by the Autobots he once thought so weak and defenseless? For us, the answer is plain: our forces fight for Cybertron's freedom. This is something that the Decepticon, with all of his military strength, can never understand. We fight for freedom. We fight for justice. We fight for Cybertron!" he let his voice rise into a fever pitch of excitement, and then the squadron broke up in laughter and cheering.

"That was a good one!" Balloon giggled.

"Optimus Prime couldn't have said it better!" smirked Airburst.

"I think you even beat Backtalk on that one," Lift grinned. Starscream bowed slightly and accepted the applause. The propaganda channel was always good for a little amusement during times of boredom, and almost everyone who listened to it could do an impression on demand. The Decepticon propaganda was much wilder and funnier (especially when the Decepticons were losing), but one worried about being taken as a sympathizer while listening to it.


	4. Starscream Meets Skyfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing like a good Skyfire and Starscream story. I dropped this story as my views of Starscream and Skyfire changed over the years, but I'm sure you can guess how it ends up. :)

Starscream cut underneath a raised causeway and began a vertical ascent back up to the surface level. Emerging into the brightness of the afternoon sunlight, he rose over the golden domes of the Planetary Research Complex, then looped abruptly and careened back downwards again, this time plunging into a dim vertical shaft that led into the lower areas of the Academy. At the last moment he slowed his descent and cruised towards an open hangar, transforming as he did so to land firmly on the scratched flooring of the petrology wing's vehicle bay. Home again. Sighing slightly, he began to make his way through the cavernous space, trying to stay out of the way of the bustling servoids. The flight had done something to ease his frustration, but it hadn't solved his problems. He was actually beginning to doubt that his problems had a solution.

Leaving the bay behind, he made his way towards the old petrology lab, several floors further down. There were bigger and better laboratories available nearer the surface in the more modern sections of the Complex, but the older lab had the advantage that it was rarely used anymore and as a result he usually had it to himself. During his years of study at the Academy it had become his second home and even his sanctuary, but at times like this it felt rather quiet and lonely. And he was growing used to that; he found that he was adapting more and more to a solitary lifestyle the longer he attended the Academy. It wasn't that he disliked others' company--the opposite, in fact--but the awkwardness of conversing with people and the constant stress of trying to present a more pleasing identity to them--specifically, the identity of someone a lot more subdued and quiet--tended to wear him down emotionally after awhile.

He keyed the lab's doorpad and stepped inside, finally relaxing as the door slid shut behind him, physically separating him from the expectations of the outside world. Everything was just as he had left it; he hadn't bothered to put away the equipment he was using, since it was unlikely that anyone else would want anything with the elderly devices. Against the far wall the long, round core samples of glittering brown metamorphosed rock lay undisturbed in their boxes, arranged neatly and awaiting further study. Next to them, the petrologic microscope he had been using to examine thin sections of finely sliced rocks was still turned on, though he had left several megacycles ago--that wasn't good. He flicked it off and removed the thin section he had been looking at, putting it away in the microscope's subspace compartment. Finally, he headed over to stir the acid and sediment bath that had been left to sit on the corner lab table, noting by the lack of grinding sounds that the silica dissolution was nearly complete. Good. Absently continuing to stir, he ran the old problem over in his mind again.

It was a bitter fuel to intake, but he had accepted the fact that planetology student Starscream was simply not a likeable person. People got along with him alright, but nobody was interested in doing anything with him unless it was required for a project. Which raised the eternal question of why he was not likable. He felt certain that if he could find the answer to that, he could compensate for his faults, correct whatever behavior(s) people disliked about him, and then--well, then theoretically he would be accepted at last. He just needed to present himself as someone who was not too smart, nor too excited, nor too withdrawn, nor too overeager to be friendly, nor too unfriendly--in short, someone just like everyone else--and then he too would surely be included in one of those smiling, laughing circles of chatting students. Unfortunately it was hard to be both consistent and natural about such things all the time; sooner or later, he inevitably blurted out a comment without thinking first, and then found the other person looking at him in surprise...and either offended or more probably thinking he had a glitch. It was a characteristic he hated about himself, but it seemed all but impossible to get rid of. Still, he thought he was managing to fool most of his (newer) acquaintances rather well now--at least, they treated him like a normal mech instead of a misfit, so he had been successful in that respect at least. Sure, nobody seemed to want to have anything to do with him outside of their required assignments yet, but if he kept on improving his facade surely someone might hopefully be interested in getting to know him better eventually.

But then what? The whole problem was that as soon as people did get to know him better, they realized their mistake and politely headed off to seek less annoying company. He sighed again, irritated this time; was it even possible to get to know someone well when you were pretending to be something other than what you really were? He sincerely hoped so, but at times like this he had doubts about the theory. After all, he had been trying to gain approval in the optics of his fellow students for years now, and though he felt he was gradually becoming more accepted into the Academy community, he still hadn't succeeded in making even one long-term friend. Perhaps it would be easier just to forget about trying to please people, give up the pretense that he was just like everyone else, and accept his outsider status for good... At the final thought he grimaced, as always. No, surely it was better to be at least partially accepted than not accepted at all, even if he had to work at it. Tapping the stirring rod free of acid, he placed it in the nearby sonic bath to be sterilized, then returned reluctantly to the petrologic microscope to continue his investigation of the thin sections.

The scope work was a rather dull necessity for his current research project, which focused on explaining--in tedious detail--how metamorphism had altered a suite of igneous and sedimentary rocks during a continent-continent collision on the planet 05-ABX-92-C. He had been provided with the long distance probe's core samples, a set of maps containing the geophysical data collected in the study area, and the names of a few people who had already studied the exact same probe material he was now working with. That was something he especially disliked about this particular project--the problem he was supposed to figure out had already been solved. And then what was the point, really? If he got stuck he could always just find out the answer by asking; he didn't actually have to try to solve it for himself. Well, technically he did, since he made it a point never to appear ignorant by asking questions unless he absolutely had to, but still, it was the principle of the thing. Even if his "research" was just another assignment tailored to teach him about how to interpret probe data--the main task of any planetologist--he still liked it when there was at least some challenge involved, rather than just a pointless repetition of the work of others. Then again, supposedly this was a challenging project; his guidance counselor had been very pleased with the work he had done on the previous sunspot assignment and had promised to provide him with a "real life" project this time. Starscream paused his work for a moment to enjoy that memory again, savoring the approval in the other's voice as he had complimented him on the quality of his work--moments like those were what he lived for. A second later an ironic smirk came to his lips as he stared down into the optic piece of the microscope; if he had known then what the project he was going to receive as a reward for his diligence, he wouldn't have been nearly so thrilled. Nevertheless, he was determined to make the best of his new project, if only to impress his counselor again. Even just a few more warm words and a surprised, pleased smile would make the whole dull thing worthwhile...

And what was that mineral grain? Adjusting the focus finely, he slowly rotated the microscope stage on which the thin section was resting and watched the view of the mineral grains flash and shift in a confused kaleidoscope of intense colors. Amongst the flashing grains was the small, elongate crystal which had caught his attention; it shifted to a pale green, and was embedded inside of a large grain of what appeared to be quartz. Of course, that alone wasn't sufficient for a mineral identification. Maybe he could obtain a flash figure if the grain's optic axis was sufficiently close to perpendicular... Personal difficulties momentarily forgotten, he settled at last into the comparatively simple problems of the physical world.

*     *     *

The office of faculty administrator Volteus was in a constant state of violent clutter. The blue and bronze mech, half-hidden amongst knee-high stacks of reference disks, a forest of computer equipment, boxes of rock samples and a spinning holographic display of a solar system, sat back in his chair and shrewdly sized his visitor up. Skyfire couldn't help but repress a smile; the same scene, accompanied by the same shrewd look, played itself out every time he decided to take a leave. It changed nothing, of course.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Skyfire?" Volteus asked, his bronze-colored thumb hovering over the authorization band of the datapad containing the sabbatical request. His soft voice took on a tantalizing note, "I could get you a few of the new honor students in your next forum group..."

"Don't try to tempt me," Skyfire smiled in amusement, folding his arms resolutely. "I've made up my mind this time."

"Tempt you?" Volteus said innocently, blue optics widening. "I just want to make sure you know what you're giving up by leaving your highly valued and satisfying teaching position to go do research which you could just as easily do in your spare time."

"But I don't have any spare time," Skyfire pointed out.

"Easily remedied! Just say how much you want!" Volteus cried, setting down the datapad again.

"Ten years," Skyfire replied cheerfully, pointing at the datapad insistently. Volteus picked up the datapad and gave it a sour look.

"It's DeceptiTech Labs, isn't it? They're trying to steal you away again."

"No," Skyfire laughed aloud at that absurd accusation. "I just want to do some work in my field for a change instead of just reading about what everybody else is discovering."

"In other words, you've caught the Xeno virus," Volteus sighed. "I should have known this would happen. First Beryllia, then Apogee, now you. Every time a probe comes back I lose half my staff!"

"Oh, come now; it's only ten years," Skyfire assured him, then grinned. "Although I will admit to having caught the Xeno virus."

"And there's no cure for that now, is there?" Volteus grumbled, finally giving in and pressing his thumb onto the authorization strip. "Alright, you're free. Get out of here."

"Thanks," Skyfire replied, smiling warmly as he turned to go. "I'll keep in touch."

"Name a rock formation after me."

Skyfire just chuckled; he felt as if he had stepped onto a new world and come home at the same time. He loved teaching, but he also loved research--and as soon as he focused on one of his interests, he found himself pining away for the other. The only thing for it was to do both, and so when the Xeno probe had returned months earlier with data that had ignited the interest of the entire planetary science community, he had decided it was time to transform his life back into research mode. And now a vast amount of new data was sprawled out before him like a present waiting to be opened--satellite photos of never-before-seen worlds, pictures of alien biota, and even cultural data on a sentient species that had been discovered in the Green galaxy. And he could do anything he wanted, study whatever he pleased! A delightful thrill of excitement surged through him as he made his way down the brightly illuminated glass passageway that led to the Planetary Research Complex. Wait, was he actually going to walk there? No! A mood like this demanded flying! Turning around, he made his way back down the hallway to the nearest land/launch pad.

As he stepped outside into the open air, the broad vista of the Science Academy beckoned to him, endless buildings dazzling under the warm sunlight. The wonderful feeling of anticipation welled up inside, and without hesitation he leapt off the pad's rail-less edge and plunged downward, only to transform and catch the wind on his wings. His heart soared. Skyfire arched powerfully upwards, and the golden buildings dropped away rapidly beneath him.

Only when the whole landscape was floating slowly by and the tallest towers were but specks on the horizon did he realize that he was in no mood to actually get where he was going. The day was perfect, he was high above the ground, and he was feeling adventurous.

*   *   *

Suddenly there was the sound of the doorpad being keyed. Looking up in surprise as the lab door slid open, Starscream was greeted by the sight of a large, bulky-looking white mech--a shuttle or something to that effect--standing in the doorway. Uh oh, he thought warily, wishing in hindsight that he had cleared the sediment spill from the previous day. Hopefully this wasn't someone important...such as the lab supervisor.

"Hey there," the other said in a pleasant enough tone, stepping inside and gazing around the room with an unreadable expression on his face. Suddenly Starscream could see all too clearly how messy he had let the lab get.

"I was going to clean it up!" he blurted, then instantly regretted his hasty words. Introductions first! "Hi there," he added belatedly. The other just nodded and replied with enviable coolness,

"I'm Skyfire... Is this your lab?"

"No; I'm just a student," Starscream replied, now unsure of what tone he should take with the other to get on his good side. Who was this intruder, and what did they want? Faculty? Student? Janitor? "...Did you want something?" he queried uncertainly.

"Actually, I was just looking for a lab to work in," Skyfire replied easily, moving to the nearest clear lab counter and dusting it clean of sediment. Wonderful, just what I need, Starscream thought sourly. Now he would be stuck with a big, distracting lab companion, probably one of those mechs who felt the need to constantly make small talk while they worked. It would be goodbye privacy, unless he could get rid of this Skyfire person.

"There are better labs upstairs up on level eighteen," Starscream said, hoping he made it sound appealing. "They have newer equipment there."

"I'm more used to the old stuff, I'm afraid," Skyfire replied with a wry smile, "Funding, you know." Starscream didn't know, but he kept his mouth shut on that. "Besides, I'm just too big to work in those crowded labs." Starscream could certainly believe that; the other mech was clogging up practically an entire corner of the room. He fretted mentally; not only had he lost his peace and quiet, he was also going to lose half his floorspace. "Don't let me bother you though," Skyfire said obliviously, "I don't want to interrupt your work." He began unloading equipment--a lot of equipment--from his subspace compartments and arranging it on the table. Watching with growing unease, Starscream wondered just how long Skyfire was planning to stay--a few days? A few weeks? He winced at the thought.

"Planning to stay long?" he asked casually.

"Probably a few months; I've got a lot of probe data to analyze." Months?! "Is that alright?" Skyfire said quickly, looking up. Blast, he had said it aloud!

"No, no, it's fine," Starscream replied instantly, stuttering out an excuse, "I was surprised--and that's quite a lot of probe data, so I was just surprised that it would take--I mean, wouldn't take--so long to do it all." Skyfire was looking strangely at him now, and he suddenly realized that he had completely blown yet another chance at a favorable first impression. Embarrassed, he found something interesting to look at on a nearby counter. A very dirty nearby counter.

"So have you worked with probe data before, then?" the other asked curiously.

"Yes, that's my project right now," Starscream explained shortly. He turned back to his microscope and twirled the stage around, hoping that the other would take a hint and end the awkward conversation.

"Oh?" Skyfire prompted, resuming the unloading of his equipment. "What planet?"

"A terrestrial one."

"That doesn't narrow it down much."

"05-ABX-92-C."

"Why, that's the same planet I'm working on," Skyfire said in a tone of pleased surprise. "And you must be the student that Volteus mentioned to me last week. Is this the continental collision core?" Surprised, Starscream looked up from the slide--Skyfire must have been one of the people on that list his guidance counselor had provided. And now he'd probably completely lost most of his credibility with him...He felt a familiar, unpleasant tightness building up inside.

"Yes," he replied slowly. "This is that core." Skyfire nodded, looking over at the cores.

"Well, what have you discovered so far?"

"I haven't discovered anything--you've already seen this and figured everything out," Starscream replied, unable to resist pointing out the obvious.

"I meant to say, what have you learned," Skyfire said patiently.

"There's a mountain building event going on." Starscream didn't bother to fill in the details; Skyfire knew them already anyway.

"And what specifically is going on?" Or not. Sighing deeply, Starscream began an unnecessary recital,

"The collision is building an orogenic belt, with thrust faulting and folding accompanied by high pressure metamorphism of the igneous and sedimentary rocks at the surface."

"You're right so far," Skyfire replied, looking inquiringly at him as if expecting more.

"It would be hard to be wrong on that," Starscream responded carelessly, instead turning back to the microscrope. Even a freshman could have figured all of that out after a few megacycles of studying the data...And what was that grain? He began setting up microscope to try to take the flash figure.

"True enough," Skyfire said. "Any problems yet?"

"No," he put as much finality as he could into the word.

"Well, let me know if run into something; that's what I'm here for," Skyfire said amiably, turning back to his countertop and continuing to unload equipment. As if I would tell him if I was having a problem, Starscream thought, rolling his optics mentally. He had no intention of risking looking foolish by asking questions. Rotating the stage, he returned to examining the flash figure. Optically positive--another clue to the puzzle. But the qualities in question could still belong to several minerals in his database... Clonk! Something rolled across the floor. "Whoops," Skyfire said, walking over to pick whatever it was up. Or maybe, thought Starscream irritably, I'll come back and finish this when the distraction is gone. Deciding it was a good idea to put the thought into practice immediately, he remembered to turn off the microscope and made his way quickly out the door. The first thing he would do was to visit level two and see what they had for a lab setup. ...After he had taken a nice, long, soothing flight to erase this whole uncomfortable incident from his memory banks.

*    *   *

Skyfire allowed himself a small smile of amusement as his lab companion made his escape. It was apparent that Starscream hadn't been expecting company--the state of the lab was sufficient evidence of that, even without the other's unfriendly attitude. He picked up the fallen microsifter and layed it down on the dusty counter, considering what Volteus had said about Starscream during their conversation a week earlier: "Well, he's a bright student--but I'm afraid he's got something of a personality defect, so be prepared to deal with that if he calls you for advice..." So far those words appeared to be ringing true; at least, the latter half of them. Skyfire hadn't been able to extract anything that could confirm Volteus' former opinion of the uncommunicative student. But there should be plenty of time for that later.

He looked around the lab with open curiousity. It was the kind of place that looked like someone's home; and indeed, when he had first stepped in, he had thought he had accidentally trespassed into someone's private laboratory. In a way, he supposed he had; if all the equipment lying casually about was any indication, Starscream was probably its sole user. And he had certainly seemed possessive enough to be... But Skyfire didn't have much of a choice in the matter of where he worked; the upper labs were built a little too low for him, and it was hard to move around. This lab was actually smaller, but at least it was taller.


	5. Horror of the Reptile Men

Space. It was big, empty, dark, and at the moment, deadly dull. Starscream stared at first one star, then at another, trying to find something of interest to fix his attention on. But there was simply nothing left to look at. The area of space which he and Skyfire were flying through was near the edge of the galactic disc, and the stars were few and far between--emphasis on  _far_ . He had nothing interesting to work on, he didn't feel like reading, and it seemed like it was taking forever to get to their next destination. Sighing silently into the vacuum, he flipped over so that he hung upside down. That was a relative orientation, of course--there was no up or down in the absence of gravity. He was only upside down relative to Skyfire, who hovered a little off to the right in his accustomed place, seemingly without moving. This too was an illusion; they were both hurtling through the void at an incredible rate. It only  _seemed_ like they weren't going anywhere at all. He peered around at the newly reoriented stars. The "change of scenery" had done little to alleviate his boredom. 

Sighing once more, he stared forward again at their destination star and tried to get his mind to go back into the dreamy, stasis-like state in which time flowed by effortlessly. In such a frame of mind, he could fly and fly, staring at nothing and thinking about everything, and then suddenly Skyfire would say it was time to stop and refuel--and to his surprise, he would find that his power levels were indeed depleted, meaning that quite some time had gone by. Skyfire said that he was losing his sense of time, though Starscream didn't see that that was such a bad thing. Skyfire hadn't actually thought it was bad either; he had simply been observing that in the absence of all deadlines, schedules, and regular cyclic events, it was hard to maintain a consciousness of the passage of time. It was true enough, Starscream supposed; he remembered that when they had left Cybertron on their first exploration mission together he had checked his internal chronometer constantly, making sure they were on track with their travel plan and figuring out how long it would take for them to arrive at the next star. Now he practically never looked at his internal chronometer unless it was to schedule a rendezvous with Skyfire somewhere. It just didn't matter what time it was when they were out in the middle of nowhere with nowhere else to be.

Suddenly he itched to check his chronometer. He did his best to resist; he knew if he gave in he would end up impatiently watching the astroseconds click by, and then it really  _would_ take forever to get to the next star. The temptation to look grew stronger. In an attempt to distract himself, he flipped back over so that Skyfire was once more in the upright position, then peered around at the stars again with his sensors in the faint hope that his readings would have changed. Nothing. Right before the maddening desire to check his chronometer became unbearable, he activated his radio and complained aloud,

"Are we there yet?"

There was a short pause as Skyfire dug himself out of whatever musings he had been immersed in, then the other gave a small chuckle.

"Bored, are we?"

"Intensely."

"Hmmm..." Skyfire said. "Did you know we're almost halfway done?"

"Only halfway?" Starscream exclaimed in dismay. "It seems like we've been floating out here forever!"

"No, no...not halfway to our current destination. We're about three-quarters of the way there now. What I mean is we're almost halfway done with  _everything_ ." 

Starscream gave the mental equivalent of a blink.

"Already? But it's only been--" He gave in and accessed his internal chronometer. "--sixty years since we left."

"Time flies when you're having fun." Skyfire said, but Starscream felt faintly disappointed at the news. He had thought that they would have another fifty years at least before they began making their way back to Cybertron. Certainly, they would be covering fresh ground almost the entire way, but it still wasn't quite the same. He liked to feel that they were going forwards with no end in sight, not heading towards the conclusion.

"So..." Skyfire continued significantly, "Since we are now almost at the official halfway point, I think a little something is in order." The other's voice seemed to be implying something important to Starscream, but he couldn't see what. And anyway, they were out in the middle of nowhere. What could there possibly be that was so important in deep space?

"Like what?" he asked puzzledly. Skyfire only chuckled in response.

"Don't tell me you forgot about that too?"

"What?" Starscream asked again, now totally bewildered.

"Oh, nothing..." Skyfire said casually, then added in an offhand tone, "Just the midtrip surprise."

" _The midtrip surprise!_ " Starscream gasped. 

 

Skyfire broke into laughter; Starscream's reaction had been everything he had hoped it would be. Now he fully intended to tease his partner as long as he could before telling him what the surprise was. Starscream edged up so close that he was almost in danger of colliding. Skyfire was silent.

"Well, what is it?" Starscream finally asked.

"Something good," Skyfire replied mysteriously.

"Like what?" Starscream demanded eagerly, inching closer.

"Hm... Maybe we should save it a little longer," Skyfire said thoughtfully. "Like until we get to the next system. What do you think?"

"No!  _Now!_ " Starscream almost shouted. 

"If you're sure," Skyfire said agreeably, holding in his laughter. "I agree too. It's such a good surprise, I'd hate to have to wait for it any longer than necessary."

"Then let's see it!" Starscream demanded.

"Still...waiting can be rewarding too sometimes. Maybe we should just wait a few minutes and think about what it means to be halfway done with our--"

"Skyfire!" Starscream screeched. "NOW!"

"Alright, alright," Skyfire laughed. "I'll tell you what it is. Are you ready?"

"YES!"

"Alright! Here goes then... The big surprise... Here it is... Are you ready? I'm going to tell you any moment now..."

"Tell me already!" Starscream screamed.

"I have in my database a copy of book #583 of Space Adventure!" Skyfire beamed internally and called the book up in his datatracks. "It's called 'Horror of the Reptile Men.'"

"...What?" Starscream's reaction was more puzzled than pleased. "They're only up to #582." He slipped back to his regular place off to the side. 

"True," Skyfire agreed, "But this is an  _unpublished_ adventure."

"And how did you get that?" Starscream asked incredulously, moving closer again.

"It was a gift. I was chatting with Redshift--"

"Who?"  
"Our publisher's friend? Remember, red wings, black intakes...?" he prompted. "Speaks with the royal 'we'?"

"I don't think I've met him."

"Maybe you weren't along that time. Anyway, we were talking about one of the journals, and when I mentioned we loved Space Adventure but weren't going to be around for the release of the next book, he pulled a copy right out of the subspace compartment in his desk and gave it to me."

"Just like that?" Starscream said skeptically.

"Just like that," Skyfire confirmed. "And since then, I've waited for this moment to come so that we could read it."

"I don't see how you can stand that," Starscream grumbled. "And  _don't_ give me any platitudes about patience." 

"Me?" Skyfire asked innocently. "Well, do you want me to read to you or not?"

"Why read it? Just upload it to me."

"Ahh, but if I upload it to you, then you'll only get to enjoy it for an astrosecond. Whereas if I read it to you aloud, then we'll both get to enjoy it together for hours."

"...Are you still teasing me?" Starscream asked suspiciously. Skyfire chuckled.

"No, I'm just trying to pass the time. We still have one quarter of the distance to go before we get to the next star, remember? I thought you were intensely bored." There was a short pause as Starscream apparently mulled it over.

"Alright," the other finally agreed, then added in a complaining tone, "Just don't try to do any funny voices."

"Right, I won't," Skyfire assured him. "Now, let's see here... Chapter One..." He opened his memory banks to the appropriate section of data and began reading, "The dark, chilling void of space was ablaze with stars--"

"I wish," Starscream snorted.

"--and comets."

"Ha! Comets?! In the middle of nowhere? Those are rare! Space wouldn't be ablaze with them!"

"Maybe it was poetic license," Skyfire said with a small mental grin at the inaccuracy. "Dangerous black holes pulsed in the deadly silence, awaiting the unwary traveller--"

"More like the stupid traveller," Starscream observed scornfully. "Haven't these writers ever heard of gravitronic sensors?"

"Not to mention the rest of the electromagnetic spectrum," Skyfire agreed, tsking mentally. Criticizing Space Adventure was really much more entertaining than reading it in serious--which was impossible anyway, once one understood what space exploration really entailed. He read on, "--the unwary traveller who might fly by, only to be sucked to their doom." He paused and waited for Starscream to make a snide remark, but when nothing was forthcoming he continued, "Supernovae exploded in the darkness, filling the void with deadly rays of radiation and heat that could cook the circuitry of even the most strongly armored mech." 

"Uh huh. Once every million years," Starscream noted, unimpressed.

"But, more deadly than all these hazards--"

"--was the boredom," Starscream finished preemptively. Skyfire burst out in laughter, then added in feigned surprise,

"What, you were bored? With all of the black holes and supernovae we've been dodging lately?" Starscream's only reply was an outraged "Ha!" and Skyfire continued reading, "But, more deadly than all these hazards was the silver form which streaked across the ebon curtain--"

"That's me," Starscream put in modestly.

"--right before it got pulled into a black hole," Skyfire finished with a wicked internal grin, managing to keep his voice calm and serious. Starscream wasn't fooled.

"It doesn't say that!" his partner accused. "You just made that up!"

"So I did," Skyfire admitted, then went on, "But, more deadly than all these hazards was the silver form which streaked across the ebon curtain, trailing a wake of blue plasma behind it: the dread pirate Ironfang." He paused, waiting. "Well, aren't you going to interrupt?"

"No," Starscream replied, then added loftily, "You may finish the next sentence."

"Alright. ...His wings were painted a hideous black, while the sigil on his nose was neither Autobot nor Decepticon--instead, it was a horrid, grimacing visage with dark, shattered optics and a mouth dripping oil: the terrifying symbol of the space raiders of Aerax Nebula. The pirate's sleek, deadly form was marred with scratches and dents that spoke of a long and dark career and many poor souls who had run afoul of his fists and laser cannons. But the prey he was seeking now was no helpless victim--rather it was a well-armed spacecraft who slipped gracefully through the void, starlight shimmering on her ivory thrusters--"

"I thought all the femmes in this series were supposed to be helpless," Starscream observed.

"--and casting long shadows through her green-glassed cockpit. Blue pinstripes ran down her wings and up the dorsal ridge of her pyramid, while her nose was tipped in orange that almost seemed to glow against the darkness of the void. Her lines were trim and clean, her pristine hull unblemished by the rigors of space and shining with fresh paint. Tucked incongruously under her wings were the dark shapes of orange-tipped missiles, while the distinctive, deadly tube of a shrapnel chute gleamed underneath her belly. What had brought such a well-armed and obviously well-manufactured lady into the heart of the most dangerous environment known to Cybertron?"

"She must have a passion for spacedust," Starscream exclaimed.

"I'm sure that's it," Skyfire replied, then went on, "--But such a question meant nothing to Ironfang. Before him he saw only one thing: credits. Surely such an exquisitely maintained machine would provide a rich ransom for him. Yet the newcomer's weapons systems gave him pause, particularly the shrapnel chute mounted so conspicuously under her bombay. So, turning about, he skulked back into the dust of the nebula--"

"Apparently this femme's sensor systems are just for show," Starscream said.

"That's probably why the black holes are so dangerous," Skyfire agreed. Anyone with a half-decent sensor array ought to have picked up another Cybertronian so near in space, dusty nebula or not. Yet nobody in Space Adventure ever seemed to pay any attention to their instruments, unless it involved an alien sneaking up behind them... "--he skulked back into the dust of the nebula and returned to his ship to seek the aide of his ruthless companions. Unknowing, the femme continued on deeper into the heart of the nebula, and onwards toward her destiny."

"Onwards to the next system! Onwards to destiny Skyfire!" Starscream cried melodramatically, rolling in place.

"Onwards to destiny!" Skyfire cheered in response, imitating the maneuver. Finishing, he picked up where he had left off, "Meanwhile, in a solar system far from Cybertron, a golden-winged fighter..."

 

Starscream smirked to himself as--right on cue--the series' hero, Goldenwings, swooped in to rescue the femme from the pirates.

"'Oh, Goldenwings,' she breathed, 'You have rescued me,'" Skyfire read in a high-pitched voice.

"What did I say about doing the voices?" Starscream complained.

"Sorry, it's a habit," Skyfire apologized in his normal tone. He continued without pausing, "Goldenwings looked down at the femme in his arms whom he had rescued--"

"I know where this is going," Starscream muttered. "Can we just skip the next few paragraphs?"

"You mean you don't want to listen to the romantic part?" Skyfire said in pretended surprise. "Why, I thought those were your favorites!"

"Sentimental slop!" Starscream declared, then added in a high pitched voice, "Oh Goldenwings, you're soooo handsome! Crush me in your strong arms--" he stopped when Skyfire broke up into laughter. "It's only the truth," Starscream said.

"I can barely wait until you fall in love," Skyfire said amusedly.

"Well I certainly wouldn't be so gushy about it," Starscream declared.

"Yes you would," Skyfire replied.

"Would not."

"Would so."

"Would not."

"Let's not start  _that_ again," Skyfire admonished. "Alright, I'll continue at the part where the romance is over."

"Good," Starscream said, satisfied.

"Okay, let's see here..." Skyfire said. "So, wingtip to wingtip, they flew off into the--"

Suddenly an unexpected thought sparked in Starscream's mind.

"Skyfire," he interrupted, "Have you ever been in love?" There was a pause. Finally, in a rather surprised voice the other jet replied,

"Well, yes--once. Didn't I ever tell you about that?"

"No. Let's hear it," Starscream requested, now more interested in hearing about the topic at hand than continuing the story.

"You mean to tell me that now you're interested in love stories?" Skyfire asked, his voice now teasing. "See, I knew you couldn't resist a gushy romance."

"I was just curious," Starscream protested defensively. "Aren't I allowed to indulge my scientific curiousity?" 

"Oh, well in  _that_ case..." Skyfire said, "I suppose I could provide an analysis of my experience of the widespread sociological phenonemon known colloquially as 'falling in love.'"

"Good. Now start," Starscream ordered.

"Alright," Skyfire said. "I'll tell you about it. On one condition."

"What's that?"

"No interruptions."

"Agreed," Starscream said. Skyfire paused for a moment, and Starscream waited for him to gather his thoughts.

"It began the year after I enrolled at the Science Academy..."

 

"Work, work, work," Skyfire muttered, looking at the long to-do list on his datapad. Eighteen books on the mathematics of solar thermodynamics to read and analyze by tomorrow, a paper on reptilian cultural development due next week, a scholarship application that had to be turned in by midnight, and an examination on laboratory technique the day after tomorrow.  _I hate homework,_ he sighed silently.

 

"You hated homework?" Starscream exclaimed, breaking into the tale.

"Starscream, you just said you wouldn't interrupt!" Skyfire exclaimed.

"Sorry--it was just that you always gave me so much...!"

"Homework helps you learn," Skyfire stated firmly. "Unless you actually apply the knowledge you read in books, you'll never fully absorb it."

"I thought that was what lab was for," Starscream muttered.

"Three hours a week in a holographic simulation won't prepare you for the real world."

"Mm, I don't know...I learned a lot that time the hologram projector caught fire."

"Me too, Starscream, me too," Skyfire said ruefully. "But getting back to the story..."

 

_It seems like I never have time to do anything anymore,_ Skyfire thought regretfully as he turned to the scholarship application.


	6. Crashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually *not* a story where Skyfire crashes in the arctic. It has nothing to do with that at all, as a matter of fact.

“Star...scream…” The words were spoken in a barely audible whisper, but that was all it took to bring Starscream back to full consciousness. The Seeker instantly noticed the rattling vibrations running down Skyfire’s metal deck, and knew that they were in trouble. He sat up from where he had lain deactivated inside his friend's hold to conserve power during their long journey. Around him he could sense the gravity well they were entering--no, had entered. Starscream scanned his friend's exostructure, focusing on the power levels.  _ Uh oh. _ They were down to the point where Skyfire was nearly deactivated. This was definitely going to be one of their messier landings. 

Starscream quickly crawled over to Skyfire’s access panel and pulled it open, removing out the energy transfer cable inside. Kneeling, he opened his own access panel and drew out his connector, then brought the two ends together and began to reroute his fuel to his friend. His own power reserves would be but a drop in Skyfire's immense fuel tank, but they would be better than nothing at this point. “Thanks…” Skyfire said, again in a whisper. It was definitely a bad situation when the other couldn’t spare the power to speak normally. “Brace yourself…” Skyfire added, and Starscream nodded, knowing his friend could see the gesture. Wasting no time, Starscream found a secured box of scientific equipment to cling to within the range of the access panel. He could hear wind howling past outside, the roaring of Skyfire’s engines surprisingly weak, but steady. He would need to find some energy quickly when they landed--or more likely crashed--in order to recharge them both, especially since Skyfire was rapidly drinking up  _ his _ remaining energy reserves just to stay in control. “Get ready…” Skyfire warned, and Starscream realized they were closer to the ground than he had thought. He gripped the bin tightly with both arms, and waited for the jolt of impact. Skyfire counted faintly, “3… 2… 1…” Then in an instant the ceiling became the floor, and the floor became the ceiling, and both became darkness. 

 

Audio sensors were the first thing to come online, and all they registered was the ticcing of cooling metal. Optics came on next, and Starscream saw a skewed picture of Skyfire’s metal interior. One by one his other systems checked in, and his internal diagnostic informed him that moving was an option, if not a recommendation. His head ached, and as he lifted it slowly off the floor he realized that he was scrunched into one of the corners of Skyfire’s now inverted ceiling. Around him, bins of equipment that had once been neatly stacked and secured were strewn about like fallen leaves. Skyfire had flipped. Starscream wondered how many times.

“Skyfire?” he called tentatively, not expecting an answer but faintly hoping for one. Only silence responded. Concern for his partner's condition provided him with enough motivation to get up, and he moved his leg down from where it was pointing up towards the floor and stretched his arm out in preparation to move. Immediately his wing began sending pain signals, but he turned off the sensory input and pushed himself away from the wall anyway. Careful not to jangle what his diagnostic had informed him was very delicately reconnected neural circuitry, he turned onto his side and finally got up onto his knees. His other arm swung limply at the elbow, unhindered by the formerly functioning stop which had once limited its range of motion. Apparently sometime during the crash it had been bent backwards with enough force to break the stop and snap the connecting circuits at the joint. He couldn’t feel or move anything below the elbow--but given what the elbow felt like above the joint, that was a blessing. 

He looked back at his wings, which registered as bent by the forces of the collision, and winced. One of them was bent into an acute angle, while the other was crumpled up like so much foil.  _ So much for my flight mode _ , he thought glumly, then immediately checked his antigravs. //Shouldn't his reaction be more horrified? They were offline too; he wouldn't be flying anytime soon. Carefully he stood up, leg squeaking slightly, and noticed that his energy conductor cord was still hanging from Skyfire's open access panel across the room--with a sizable bit of his circuitry still attached to it. He immediately looked down at his own access panel, or at least at where it was supposed to be, and noted that he now had a hole there instead.  _ Wonderful,  _ he thought grimly. _ This is definitely going down as the crash of the century.  _

Moving cautiously across Skyfire’s ceiling lest his weight cause the other jet to shift, he cracked opened the exit hatch with his good arm and looked outside. Flowers. A huge field of thick, white flowers. In the distance there was a fringe of trees, above which rose greenery clad hills and faint blue mountains, all capped by a blue-green sky. Starscream just stared for a moment, astonished. He had expected to see a typical rocks-and-wind world, not a living, breathing planet. He carefully climbed out of the side of the hatch--the ramp wouldn't extend--and lowered himself down into the shredded plant remains that surrounded Skyfire’s hull. As he stood there looking out across the field a sharp breeze rustled the flowers, and the faint sound of flowing water reached his audio sensors. It was hot; a bright white sun beat down on the alien landscape, setting the scene into sharp relief. It was a peaceful yet lively landscape--much different from the dead, crater-covered worlds he was used to encountering.

After a moment of contemplation, Starscream turned away from the field and looked back towards Skyfire. Limping slowly--one of his heel thrusters had crushed in on itself--he began to walk around the other jet, evaluating the damage which had been wrought during the seconds of impact. Skyfire was lying upside down with his main hatch facing the sky. The more upwards slanting wing was completely crushed, and Starscream saw immediately they would both be spending a long time grounded before they would be able to fly again. Slowly he hobbled his way up towards Skyfire’s nose, and when he caught sight of it he froze, his optics widening. There was nothing left of that graceful white nose and gleaming blue cockpit but wrinkled metal and smashed out transparine. Starscream felt cold little claws of fear scrabbling up his canopy. He had never seen Skyfire damaged so badly in all their time together, and as he beheld the wreckage it was difficult to believe that Skyfire was repairable at all.  _ He's just unconscious _ , he told himself, but the hollow reassurance did little to alleviate his anxiety. 

He continued around (left leg still squeaking) to Skyfire’s other side and found that it was half buried under a mound of silt that the other jet had dug up upon entry. He wouldn't be able to tell how badly damaged Skyfire actually was under there until the other had been unearthed. Looking towards Skyfire’s stern he could see a long trail of disturbed soil, indicating that the other had skidded for some time before coming to a stop. Occasional areas of untouched flowers pointed to the conclusion that they had left the ground at several points during the "landing."  _ Skyfire is tough _ , he thought, mostly trying to convince himself. He reached out, patting his silent companion’s side. 

“I’ll have you out of here in no time." It felt good to hear his own voice, apprehensive though it was. 

Only then did he notice how weak he felt. Between his power transfer to Skyfire and all the energy he had spent on self repair before coming back online, he was finding it was an effort simply to remain conscious. He checked his power reserves and found that he was within a few hours of deactivation—he would definitely have to get the solar panels out right away, not to mention reconnect his power transfer cable. The only question was if he would be able to do that before he ran out of power. Hurriedly he limped back to Skyfire's hatch and pulled himself back inside. He had to get himself reenergized and there was no time to waste. Anxiously the Seeker ran his optics over the bins lying around the room. Now which one had the tools in it...?

 

The bright morning sun beamed down on Starscream’s battered body as he lay stretched out on a bed of white flowers, the growing light reflecting off of his darkened optics. Next to him, connected by a hurriedly patched cable, a set of solar panels warmed under the touch of dawn. Gradually power trickled from the panels' surfaces down into the Seeker's unconscious form. By noon his power levels had climbed to the point where he regained consciousness. Normally he would have been anxious to occupy himself with a rock sample or with something else interesting with which to pass the time, but he was simply too exhausted to do anything but lay there and let his self repair systems work on the still fragile connections.

A few hours later, he found the strength to get up and set out the rest of the solar panels, then tiredly reconnected himself and lay back on the ground again. The orange sun was sinking below the peaks in the background and the solar panels were cooling when he disconnected himself at last and gingerly stood up, feeling stronger if not exactly better. He climbed into Skyfire’s open side hatch (it wouldn’t shut again after he had opened it) and clumsily dragged out the tools to begin repairing his friend. He briefly thought about repairing his arm first, but quickly brushed the thought aside. It would be difficult to repair himself, and he wanted to at least get Skyfire's self repair systems working before he began that time consuming task.

With some difficulty he managed to pry the metal shielding off of Skyfire’s crumpled nose, tossing the plates onto the ground in order to dig through the ruined circuitry. It quickly became apparent that it would take a lot of work to fix that particular area, and he decided to attend to an easier section first. Replacing the nose plates as best he could and then welding them closed again to prevent contamination, he climbed up again onto Skyfire’s inverted ventral surface. Kneeling there, he began working loose the warped armor plating. After examining the exposed circuitry underneath for a moment, he decided that it looked like a good place to get Skyfire's internal repair system started at. He hauled up the tools and began hooking up damaged connections, removing pieces that appeared more difficult to fix for later. Once he had checked to make sure all the fuel tubes were sound so that the energon he was going to add wouldn’t leak all over the ground, he would bring the other's repair system online. Starscream didn’t really want to bring Skyfire back to consciousness in the mess he was in right now—it looked too uncomfortable, and wasn’t really necessary for the repairs yet.

Through the night he labored, unbothered by the darkness, and by the time dawn broke he had fixed a modest amount of damage. Satisfied that at least one part of Skyfire’s cracked body wasn’t going to leak fuel all over the ground, the Seeker ran an extension cable from the solar panels to the other's exterior access panel. 

As he moved his arm swung limply at the elbow. The loose appendage had begun to irritate him; it constantly flopped around and got in the way of the work. Though he had taken the time to deactivate the pain sensors around the area so that it was more annoying than painful, the flopping was making it difficult for his internal repair system to work on the arm at all. Finally, in exasperation he got out some wire and pushed his limp forearm upwards to his shoulder. After a few frustrating minutes, he managed to wind the wire around both parts of his arm, tying it off at the top of his turret mount to hold everything in place. Starscream moved his shoulder and was satisfied to see that his forearm stuck there as if glued. It was an awkward solution, but it was better than letting his forearm swing around freely.

The problem dealt with, Starscream took a minute to review the alien scenery by daylight. Everything was as he had left it before. A soft breeze ruffled the flowery meadow, filling the air with a strangely sweet fragrance while the white sun, dulled to mere gold as it climbed up over the mountains, slowly gilded the tops of the hills and the upper boughs of the trees. From somewhere in the distance, Starscream could hear a sound like a file being drawn back and forth across a burr. The noise sent a chill of excitement through him--the planet was alive not merely with plants, but with animals too. Skyfire would be delighted when he woke up!

The thought of his friend's condition sobered him, and he turned away from the spectacle of morning to gaze upon the broken form he had been staring at all night. If anything, his friend looked even worse than ever. Most of his belly armor was now gone and his nose was a patchwork quilt of messily welded plates that would have done credit to Frankenstein's monster.

"All in a day's work,” Starscream said ruefully. Sighing, he slumped back against the white metal hull and sat down so that he could gaze across the field, tracing the brown scar Skyfire's landing had plowed across the turf. The furrow was deeply hewn into the ground, and as Starscream looked at it, he felt a sudden surge of fear about how close the call had been. If he hadn't come back online after the crash... Or if he hadn’t been able to reconnect his energy transfer cable and set out that set of solar panels in time...he would have deactivated, and there would have been no one to fix either of them. He reached around with his good hand to touch Skyfire’s fuselage, now scraped up from the landing. The crash could have been fatal, but it hadn't been. They would both be alright soon. He maintained the reassuring contact for a moment longer. Finally he got up and climbed onto Skyfire’s ventral surface, walking as gently as possible, and set to work on the repairs once again.

 

“Skyfire? Are you there? Are you awake? Skyfire? Do you hear me?” Starscream’s voice had a sort of automatic quality to it which suggested that he had been repeating the questions for awhile. He continued until Skyfire managed to get out a weak groan. “Skyfire!” Starscream’s voice instantly took on a tone of delight.

“Hey…” Skyfire greeted him. He was getting only two sensory inputs from his body, sound and infrared--no visuals even. He quickly realized he was lying upside down, and Starscream was kneeling on top of his ventral loading door--probably with a huge grin on his face, though he couldn't tell. Starscream himself was simply a reddish blob against a darker background. Skyfire frowned mentally; apparently the scanners needed some tuning. 

“Do you feel any pain?” was Starscream’s next question. That wasn’t a good sign. Coupled with the lack of other sensory inputs, it probably meant he had been damaged pretty badly.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Is it very bad?”

“Nothing irreparable,” Starscream said quickly, an attempt at reassurance in his voice. “Your nose is crunched and your wings are a mess, but otherwise you’re just fairly damaged.”

“That sounds bad,” Skyfire said flatly. His internal diagnostics were among the absent systems, but if ‘just fairly damaged’ was the most optimistic thing Starscream could come up with, then he knew he was in trouble. Starscream trying to be tactful was a bad sign in itself. “Are you alright?” he asked before Starscream could try to convince him that his self diagnosis was flawed. He had noticed that the Seeker appeared to have one short arm, and despite the blurriness of his infrared sensor, he could see that the other’s wings were also misshapen.

“I’m fine. A few injuries, nothing to worry about,” Starscream replied casually. _He didn’t call them ‘minor’ injuries,_ Skyfire noticed immediately. Starscream had a tendency to minimize his injuries, so the lack of a qualifying adjective more or less indicated that they must be bad. Starscream, of course, wouldn’t actually describe his wounds as ‘bad’ unless he was in more than three major pieces. “You've been under repair for a week now. I'd say you'll transform in another week, but it'll be awhile before we'll fly. A month for you, less for me.” 

“A month?” Skyfire asked, surprised. “My internal diagnostic is offline, but exactly what is broken?”

“Oh…” Starscream started nonchalantly, “Only your flow injector, your gyron module, your synchronic relay system, your…” Starscream continued on for awhile in an unconcerned voice which Skyfire knew his partner was consciously using, then finished, “…and a few other things. It won’t take that long to repair.”

“That’s quite a list. The crash must have been bad,” Skyfire stated. “Anyway I could help?”

“I don’t think so,” Starscream replied, leaning forward to pick at what looked to be exposed circuitry. “Not until I’ve finished repairing your transformation cog, anyway. And a couple of other parts.” As he leaned forward, Skyfire saw the profile of Starscream’s damaged arm and realized that below the elbow it was cool, unlike the upper arm.

“Your arm. How badly is it damaged?” he asked.

“I can’t move it. It was bent backwards at the elbow, and most of the connections snapped,” Starscream explained with some reluctance.

“Starscream!” Skyfire scolded him mildly. “Fix your arm first, then repair me.”

“Well…” Starscream started, a slight touch of sheepishness in his voice, “I was getting around to it.”

"Good," Skyfire said, filling the word with a combination of recrimination and wry resignation--Starscream had a tendency to forget about his own repairs when he had something else to focus his mind on. Which usually meant that the first thing Skyfire did when he was able to transform was to make Starscream sit still and be worked on himself.

“So, where are we?” Starscream asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“This is one of the planets around TA-297,” Skyfire answered. “I'm not sure exactly which one. I didn’t have the power to do anything but pick the closest gravity well and head for it.” Starscream nodded.

"What happened? I didn't think this trip would use up so much energy."

"A malfunction in my plasma conversion module," Skyfire explained with a sigh. "My engines' efficiency dropped to 70% about halfway between here and the last star." Starscream made a noise of surprise, then was silent. After a moment he said understatedly,

"It was close." Skyfire thought he detected a note of unease in the other's voice. It had indeed been close--too close for comfort. Skyfire resolved that on their next trip, the course would include considerably fewer long jumps, however tempting the oxymoronic "short cuts" might be to use. There were some stars, of course, which could not be reached except by such methods...yet there was a vast difference between necessity and convenience.

Skyfire peered about with his infrared sensors, trying to pick out features in the cool haze which lay beyond the hot blur of Starscream's exostructure. There was almost no detail available; all he could pick up were fuzzy areas of warm and cool that offered almost no clue as to their identification. He could tell the sky from the ground, but that was more or less it. Sensitivity and resolution were both shot.

"Can you describe the area to me?" he asked, adding regretfully, "I'm afraid my infrared isn't what it used to be."

"The sky is blue green," Starscream began, bending down again to continue his work. "Vegetation is green, as far as I've seen. Beyond the field we're in, there is forest that runs upwards to some hills--we're resting in the floodplain at the bottom of a large stream valley. If you listen closely you can hear the river." Skyfire listened, and indeed, he could hear a faint noise of running water. It was an environment favorable to the support of animal life.

"Have you seen any lifeforms?" Skyfire asked hopefully. The planet's biosphere might not yet have evolved sufficiently to contain any animal life, but if the structures which Starscream claimed were flowers could correctly be labeled as such, then it suggested the presence of pollinators.

"Nothing intelligent, if that's what you're wondering," Starscream said in an amused tone, anticipating Skyfire's next question. In fact, Skyfire would have expected Starscream to have reactivated him instantly if he had seen any higher lifeforms. Worlds inhabited by sentient species were, unfortunately, the rarest of all kinds. "But there are larger animals around--I've seen their tracks by the river."

"How large are we talking?" Skyfire inquired, thinking mostly of the peculiar tendency his friend had to attract large predators.

"From the stride length I would say about knee height on me," Starscream replied absently. In a rather frustrated tone he added, "Why didn't your manufacturers put your relays in a place that a normal person can reach?"

"You're the one with all the little pieces," Skyfire offered wryly. Starscream's streamlined pyramidal exostructure was absolutely crammed with tiny, unreachable parts--a particular inconvenience to deal with when one had large fingers. But between Starscream's military grade self repair systems and a set of small tools, Skyfire had managed it.

"At least my pieces are in sensible places," Starscream grumbled--an assertion which Skyfire knew from experience was far from the truth. But he let it pass, instead asking,

"What did the tracks look like?"

"All the ones that I've seen were made by quadrupedal and bipedal animals. ...Sorry, no octopods."

"Someday we'll find some," Skyfire said, a humorous smile in his voice. Finding octopods had become a standing joke between them, ever since he and Starscream had enthusiastically followed the tracks of a pair of domesticated quadrupeds that had been tied together head-to-tail, thinking they were an eight-legged creature. Starscream continued on,

"Most of the tracks are four toed, clawed, and bipedal with two elongated central toes and two shorter outer ones. Each track is about the length of my clenched fist. Another type is broader, with a wide footpad. They have five stubby toes without claws, and are sunk deeply into the mud--a heavy bodied animal, I should think. There are smaller variations on both track types. And a bipedal form of the broad five-toed kind."

"How about flying animals? Seen anything around?" Skyfire asked, interested.

"Lots--all smaller pollinators," Starscream offered, then launched into a description of them. Skyfire listened quietly, though he grew more and more excited underneath. Life--and lots of it! The world they had found looked like it would be a fascinating study.

 

Connecting the solar panels' power cable up to Skyfire's energon converter, Starscream stood back and admired his handiwork. One week of repair complete, and his partner was beginning to look halfway like a cargo jet again. Another few weeks and he'd be as good as new. He looked up at the sky, gauging the conditions. It was sunny, but that might change by the afternoon. The planet had regular rain, and it had prevented him from collecting as much solar energy as he would have liked. It had also stalled Skyfire's repairs. He had made good progress on his own repairs though, sitting dry inside of Skyfire's hold in order to prevent internal contamination while he worked on himself. He could move his elbow now, even if his fingers and wrist were still dead. But that didn't matter; he couldn't put any stress on his arm anyway, not before his internal repair systems had gotten a chance to finish smoothing out his rough work.

Skyfire was "napping" at the moment. There had really been no reason for the other jet to stay online since he was unable to see or move, so he had put himself under again to await further repair. Starscream hadn't gotten his friend to the point where he could transform yet, but he gotten Skyfire's optical sensors fixed and his infrared cleared up. The choice to fix those particular systems had been more due to the rain than to anything else; Skyfire's sensor modules were detachable and could be brought inside of his hold to be worked on, but his transformation system was extensive and most decidedly undetachable.

Giving the power cable a tug to make sure it was on tight, Starscream gave his friend a little goodbye wave. Skyfire would wake up in a few hours, once his power levels got high enough, and before that happened Starscream wanted to go collect some data for him to work on while he recuperated. It was soon going to be necessary for Skyfire to remain fully online so that he could speed the efforts of his self repair systems, and Starscream knew from experience that there was nothing more boring than sitting around unable to move with nothing to do and nothing but time on one's hands. ...Not to mention the fact that if nothing else, some interesting samples would help distract Skyfire from the funny noise he always claimed to hear when Starscream used the ultradrill. 

With an amused grin at his partner's little eccentricity, Starscream turned away towards the horizon and examined the nearby hills. His plan was to gain the top of one of them, grab a few pictures of the surrounding area from that high vantage point (a poor substitute for actual aerial views, but it would have to do for the moment) and then head back down, collecting vegetation samples as he went. With any luck the local plants wouldn't wilt too quickly, and Skyfire would just be coming online by the time he got back with them.

Starscream picked out a rather high hill with a little grey rocky prominence at the top for his destination. It looked like it had a good gradient of vegetation to sample, and there was a small stream running down the side that promised the bonus of liquid-loving species. With a slight squeak in his leg, he began walking, his feet sinking into the white flowers as if they were snow.

The Seeker sighed, part of him amused by the irony of having to walk and part of him annoyed at the inconvenience. What would have taken seconds before would now take hours. Fortunately, it didn't particularly matter at the moment; he would have had to stay on the ground anyway in order to collect the samples he needed. And the alien scenery was rather pleasant; the field was wide and sweet-smelling, and a few large, puffy clouds travelled slowly across the blue green sky, perhaps the forbearers of an afternoon rainshower. From somewhere back behind the treeline, an unseen creature made a nasal hooting noise.  _ Probably an alarm call, _ Starscream decided, knowing that the animal had likely heard his squeaking approach. 

At last the field came to an end, and he stepped into the dappled dimness of the forest. A moist carpet of fuzzy plants squished under his feet and his legs ripped apart tangles of small shrubs as he walked. The trees were tall and clean-trunked with single splay of branches at the top that was just high enough over his head that the limbs didn't catch his head or wings when he walked.  _ Not a good forest for Skyfire, _ he mused; the first branches would be right at the other's chest level. He glanced up at the overhanging limbs, all covered with long, narrow blue flowers which dangled down like Christmas tree ornaments. On a whim, he reached up and plucked one, examining it as he walked. The flower had eight pointed petals and a frilly white interior covered with pink dust.  _ Pollenoid material, _ Starscream speculated, not terribly interested in his discovery. Plants were more Skyfire's realm than his; Starscream was more interested in geology or  _ real _ alien life that crawled and swam and did things. All plants did was cover up the rocks. 

The forest began to grow thicker as he wended his way through it, and Starscream found himself having to fight his way through shrubs that suddenly came up to his midsection. Grumbling, he pushed onwards anyway, cursing his weak arm and his offline antigravs. If he had been capable of any flight, he could have just floated over everything, but noo...! Pausing for a moment, he glanced back at his wings, which were (more or less) back in their proper places. They still needed a lot of work before he would trust them to hold together under the stress of flight, but at least they weren't bent into unnatural-looking shapes anymore. He was certainly going to be happy when Skyfire could transform and do some repairs on him.

Continuing onwards, he shortly found himself at a small, clear stream--probably the base of the one he had seen flowing down the hill before. He stepped out onto a gravelly sandbar and stooped down to scoop up a handful of rounded rocks, apparently some form of granite. 

"Garnet, tourmaline, cordierite," he noted aloud, picking through the wet rocks with a finger and identifying what minerals he could see.  _ Intesting assortment. Perhaps evidence of tectonic plates, _ he speculated, glancing around at the hills which poked up out of the treetops and wondering if plate movements had indeed had a hand in creating them. He had forgetten to ask Skyfire if he had seen anything of the planet's continental configuration (if there were continents at all--it might be an ocean world for all he knew) on the way down. Without knowing what global context to put the stones in, it was difficult to say what forces had produced the minerals he was seeing. Deciding to leave the problem for another time, he pocketed the stones.  _ I'd better keep moving, _ he told himself.  _ I need to get to get to the top and down again before Skyfire comes online. _ He splashed across to the other side of the stream and began crashing through the shrubbery anew. 

 

A few hours later--rather longer than he had anticipated--he arrived at the rocky crest of the hill. Hills and valleys rose and fell into the distance, right up to the high blue mountains sweeping across the horizon. It was certainly a geologically active world, although whether or not it had continental plates remained to be seen. A strong wind rushed by him carrying a heavy odor of rain, and indeed, above him the usual afternoon rainclouds were swarming in. In the valley below, the river lay coiled about on its floodplain like a dozing brown snake. It was a wide, refreshing view for a Seeker who had just spent hours slogging slowly through the forest.

Looking away from the expansive vista, Starscream turned his attention to the rocks at his feet. They looked to be granite, obviously more of what he had seen in the streambed earlier but fresher and rougher looking. He picked a chunk up and examined it, catching the familiar glint of muscovite and a dark blue grain that his sensors confirmed as more cordierite. Interesting. He broke off a chunk with a particularly large crystal of blue cordierite in it for Skyfire, then turned back to the valley and tried to spot his partner down below. After a moment of searching he was able to find the field of white flowers, but he couldn't make out any reds or blues--not particularly surprising, since Skyfire was lying on his back.

Starscream looked slowly across the rest of the panorama, optics almost unconsciously picking out the geomorphology of the landscape--the shapes of the hills, the drainage patterns of the streams, the whole lay of the land. Skyfire would be curious about all of that when he came around, and Starscream wanted to be ready to answer whatever questions he had. He took a holorecorder out of subspace and made a 3D image of the scene so that they could look at the landscape together on the holoprojector in Skyfire's hold.

The brisk wind and the height were invigorating, and though his task was done, Starscream found himself reluctant to go back down again. Instead, he settled for taking vegetation samples from among the rock-dwelling plants that inhabited the granitic landscape. These he stuffed into his subspaces roots and all, careful to preserve what dirt he could along with the plants in order to prevent them from dehydrating while he brought them back. Subspace was a perfect preservation chamber, but after the plants had been sitting out in the sun next to Skyfire for a few hours, they would begin to wilt unless they had their dirt. That much Starscream had learned from experience. 

Finally running out of unique species to collect, Starscream reluctantly sought out the landmark of the white field in the valley below and began heading down towards it, making a beeline for Skyfire's approximate position. He surfed briefly down a scree-covered slope, then regained the greenery secured part of the hill and soon found himself back below the treeline. Slowly working his way through the thickening forest, he meandered freely about from one area of interest to the next, gathering plants, fruits, flowers and just about anything else that looked like it might interest a bored cargo jet. Soon his subspaces were full and he resorted to carrying things in his arms--much to the dismay of his unhappy left elbow. As if to vocalize his arm's distress, his left leg was also squeaking more loudly than ever, producing a horrid "scrrreeeek" every time he took a step.

"Oh, stop that!" Starscream finally chastened it irritably, but it refused to listen. Sighing frustratedly, he ignored it the best he could and instead snagged a broad yellow-green leaf from a new kind of shrub to add to his growing leaf collection. The movement made the load of forest debris in his arms sag dangerously, and he quickly shifted it back to its former position before something fell out.  _ I can't carry any more, _ he finally admitted to himself, wryly hearing Skyfire's usual amused comment in his mind: "Starscream, are you sure you don't want to be rebuilt into a cargo jet when we get back?" Starscream would always nod eagerly in response and say, "Yes, and you can be rebuilt into a Seeker! And then I can carry you around!" And Skyfire would offer humorously, "You're right--it would be perfect. Much better than what we have now." 

Actually, Starscream thought it would be more perfect if they were both cargo jets--then they could go twice as far at a time--but he wasn't about to give up his speed and maneuverability for more energon-carrying capacity. And he doubted that Skyfire would want to give up his range and power either, though his size might be a different matter.  _ Poor Skyfire, _ Starscream thought ruefully, recalling all the horror stories his partner had told him about small doors, low ceilings, and weak landing platforms. Starscream had once asked Skyfire once how he could stand living in such a small, unreinforced world. Skyfire had just given a rather resigned sigh and admitted that he had gotten used to it. Starscream had made a face and then observed that at least they didn't have to worry about  _ that _ anymore, since they were millions of light years away from Cybertron in a completely different galaxy and the nearest indoor locale was Skyfire's own hold. "There is that," Skyfire had replied, his tone nevertheless carrying a hint of rueful regret. 

Starscream continued squeaking through the undergrowth as best he could with his armload of samples, and when he finally broke out into the sunlit field of flowers he felt distinctly relieved to be out in the open again.

"Skyfire?" he called, "Are you awake?" There was no reply, so the answer was evidently no. He strolled across the field towards where he had left his friend, searching for the landmark of the familiar crushed wing pointing up high into the sky. After a few minutes of wandering around, he was surprised to find that he hadn't found Skyfire yet. "Skyfire?" he couldn't resist calling again, puzzled. Maybe he wasn't in the right field. He checked his coordinates, and found that he was. He looked around again more carefully and after still finding nothing, he walked towards the exact coordinates that Skyfire was supposed to be located at.  _ Surely he couldn't have transformed and walked away...?  _ he thought in bewilderment, almost immediately rejecting the idea.  _ He must have settled over further on his back, _ he concluded a moment later. At last he found the trail of ripped up earth that Skyfire had made as he skidded over the ground during his crash landing. Following it, he finally arrived at the place where Skyfire...wasn't. Starscream stared, surprised. There was a deep hole where Skyfire had been partially buried in the ground, and a large patch of shredded and flattened flowers, but no white cargo jet. "Skyfire?" he shouted as loudly as he could. He certainly would never have believed that Skyfire would be able to transform, much less walk, in his condition. But clearly the other jet wasn't there, ergo... Starscream almost tried his comm before he remembered that it was broken. Kneeling down, he set down his collection of forest samples, standing up and brushing his arms off. Then he began a careful circle of the crash site, looking for Skyfire's distinctive square footprints. After circling the area three times, he found himself completely bewildered. He couldn't find a single track, not even a hint of one, and with Skyfire's weight he always left behind deep tracks. Had Skyfire  _ flown  _ off?  _ Impossible, _ Starscream thought instantly. He knew for a fact that Skyfire's antigravs were shot, and there was no way the other could have gotten his buried wing out of the dirt with just his thrusters. Starscream stood in the center of the crushed patch of flowers, completely perplexed and a little worried. 

Abruptly he realized that he hadn't seen Skyfire down in the field before, when he had been up at the top of the hill.  _ He must have been gone by the time I got up there, _ Starscream thought. The revelation made him doubly certain that Skyfire hadn't gone anywhere under his own power--the other jet couldn't possibly have regained consciousness by that time at the rate the solar panels worked. But if Skyfire hadn't gone anywhere, then what  _ had _ happened to him? What could have moved that gigantic body without leaving so much as a trace? There had been no flood, no tornado, no avalanche nor any sort of natural force that could have shifted Skyfire from his resting place. 

_But suppose it was an_ unnatural _force?_ Starscream thought suddenly, a chill running through his circuitry. There was life on the planet--perhaps some of it was sentient. What if _someone_ had taken Skyfire? But who? And why? Starscream didn't know the answer to either question, but if someone had taken Skyfire, then he needed to find his friend, fast. 

Quickly he bent down and began a closer examination of the trampled meadow, this time looking for signs of intruders. As he scoured the ground, his mind worked furiously, trying to piece together what might have happened. Had they dragged Skyfire off by sheer brute force? Had they set him on a vehicular conveyance and driven off with him? Starscream was perplexed by the lack of any sort of drag marks or any sort of deep imprints leading away from the site. How could someone have moved Skyfire without leaving a single trace? Had something in the air plucked him up and taken him away? But surely he would have seen or heard a vehicle big and powerful enough to remove his friend and fly off with him...although he  _ had _ been making a lot of noise when he was crashing through the brush.

Suddenly his optics caught sight of something yellow tangled amongst the flowers. A clue! He pinched the item delicately between his fingers and plucked it up, setting it on his light blue palm and examining it closely. It appeared to be a crumpled paper, clearly artificial in nature. Starscream frowned with concentration, but after a minute of thought he couldn't place it as any part of their equipment, much less as an item that he had taken out of his friend's hold. It seemed more and more likely that aliens had taken Skyfire. //Too abrupt conclusion!!! Fighting back a wave of anxiety, he flicked a tweezers out of his pinky and unfolded the paper, flattening it out in his hand to see if there was anything written on it--a ransom note, perhaps. It was blank but for a string of black, wavy lines and dots that ran across the edge, apparently writing of some kind, or a decorative design. Subspacing it, he carefully examined the ground for any other clues. When he found nothing, he again began to circle the area, this time looking not for Skyfire's large prints but for small, lighter footprints. 

He quickly found something--a trail of faintly disturbed flowers, leading in the general direction of the river. A flash of insight struck suddenly struck him.  _ Of course they had to get here somehow! _ He had seen no buildings or any other signs of sentient life from up on the hill--so it made sense that the aliens would have arrived at the meadow from somewhere else. And they might easily have come and gone in a boat, for the river was just big enough to transport Skyfire. Without further hesitation, he rushed towards the river, his left leg squealing at every step. 

Minutes later he arrived on the bank, looking anxiously around for any sign of his friend. There was nothing to be seen; the broad, gently flowing river was empty save for a solitary log making its way downstream. Disappointed, he dropped his optics to the riverbank, looking for more tracks. He found them. There, pressed into the mud by the reeds, were dozens of familiar four-toed tracks. Just like the ones he had seen earlier, each track had two long central toes and two short outer ones, and at the end of each toe was a narrow mark where a claw had bit into the mud. The creature to whom they belonged was, by the look of it, small and bipedal.  _ But are they the right ones? _ he wondered. He examined them more closely, looking for any indication that they could belong to the kidnappers. After a moment something caught his optic--one of the prints had a smooth, rectangular impression on one of the toes, plainly the mark of something artificial. And when he looked closer to the edge of the bank, he found a deep, round drag mark in the mud which he recognized as the kind that might have been left by a boat rammed up on the shore. By the size of the mark, the boat was obviously too small to have accomodated Skyfire, but perhaps there had been some larger craft that the smaller craft had come from. 

Straightening up, he stared out at the river, wondering what to do. The local aliens had Skyfire, and they had evidently transported him away on the river. How and why they had done so, he had no idea, but he knew that the aliens must have some technological sophistication in order to have produced paper and a means of transporting Skyfire away without disturbing the ground. As he considered what they might have done, a terrible thought occurred to him--what if they hadn't taken Skyfire away in _one piece?_ Even as his mouth fell open in horror, another ominous conclusion sprung to mind. _It's no coincidence that they came when I was gone._ _They must have been watching the whole time._ _Just waiting for me to leave him alone so that they could grab him._ The forest suddenly seemed very quiet. A high-pitched, barking call floated over the water, then there was silence again, broken only by the rustling trees. A shadow fell over him as a cloud covered the sun, and in the resulting cool dimness Starscream waited and listened nervously, half expecting an attack at any moment. But after a moment he shook the feeling off. Whoever had taken Skyfire obviously feared him, or else they wouldn't have waited until he was gone to snatch his friend away. And even as damaged as he was, he was still formidable by organic standards--particularly since he still had one working laser. He glanced down at the weapon mounted upon his shoulder, suddenly finding its familiar presence very comforting. He might need to use it get Skyfire back. 

Now the only question was whether Skyfire had been taken upstream or downstream. He looked down at the mark left by the boat, trying to determine which way it had gone. Quickly he determined solving the question that way was fruitless. There was no way of telling what the boat had done once set free from the bank. Instead, he tried to think like the kidnappers. They would want to evade pursuit and to get away as quickly as possible, so perhaps they had gone downstream to help them escape more rapidly. Then again, their ultimate destination--a place of safety, or a city--might very well lie upstream. A second later, a thought occurred to him, and he snatched the holorecorder out of subspace, turning it on. Engaging playback, he watched intently as a small, translucent hologram came to life above the device, showing the valley as he had seen it from the hilltop. He zoomed in as far as he could on the white field of flowers, again seeing no sign of Skyfire--so apparently his partner had been taken by the time he reached the top of the hill. Cursing the time he had wasted on his leisurely stroll back, Starscream turned his attention to the river. He traced it out as it wended through the trees, looking for any sign of a vehicle. Finally he saw something, just a faint cubical blob that stuck out from the flat surface of the water, travelling downstream.  _ That must be the boat, _ he decided, dismayed by how far away it was shown in the hologram. There was no sign of a white cargo jet on board.  _ Perhaps they covered him, _ Starscream thought, fighting back the fear that the aliens had cut Skyfire up into smaller chunks to make him fit. Briefly he looked down at the skid mark left by the boat where it had been pulled up on the shore, wondering how big of a piece of his partner would have fit on board--a very small one. The appalling realization jolted him into action. Without any further hesitation, he thrust the holorecorder back into subspace and tore off down the river bank. 

 

As long as Starscream's power held out, he had no need to stop for rest, food or sleep--an advantage which he was fully aware that organic lifeforms did not possess. Making as much use of it as he could, he hurried on throughout the day and the following night and then finally through the morning, smashing through brush and splashing through the river as he followed its course downstream. He was constantly on the lookout for an ambush; the creatures who had kidnapped Skyfire had proven themselves clever, and he had no doubt that they had anticipated his pursuit. His leg squealed loudly with every step, and the knee joint was growing hot. The earlier work completed by his self repair had been undone by the demands he was placing upon his body, and the situation was rapidly worsening as metal scraped constantly against metal. Silently he cursed his broken antigravs, his crushed thruster, his damaged wings, and his general flightlessness.

He vaulted over a fallen log and landed with a splash on the other side, rushing headlong down the bend of the channel. A flock of flying creatures that had been floating on the water ahead of him flapped away in a panic, their furry, batlike wings pounding as they took off down the river. Starscream had yet to see any signs of the kidnappers, and he was becoming grimly certain that he wasn't going to. Either the boat was faster than him and he wasn't catching up with it, or else the kidnappers had pulled their craft up into one of the many side streams and hidden it so that he passed it by completely. A third, even more dismaying possibility was that the boat hadn't gone downstream at all. It might be that the thing he had seen in the hologram wasn't a boat, but a particularly large snag. And if the kidnappers had in fact gone upstream, then he was headed in a completely wrong direction. 

But he couldn't stop now. The rectangular thing he had seen was the only lead he had, and since he didn't have any other evidence either way one direction was as good as another. He would go downstream until his power gave out. If he hadn't found anything by then...he didn't know what he would do. Starscream rounded the brushy curve of the riverbank--only to stop, dismayed. Before him was a fork in the river. For a moment he just stood there, a mixture of emotions ranging from pure frustration to panicky anxiety running through him. What now? Both of the channels looked large enough to have been used by the fleeing kidnappers, if they had used either of them at all.

"If only I could fly!" he burst out, tilting his head to look longingly up at the sky. Flying would solve all his problems! Even if all he could do was to get up in the air and look around, everything would be _ so _ much easier. And suddenly, out of the blue-green sky, a brilliant idea struck him. He pulled the holorecorder out of subspace and hefted it in his hand. It seemed sturdy enough. And it  _ was _ waterproof... Walking as far out towards the middle of the river as he dared, he set the device to record. Then, taking the best aim that he could manage, he hurtled it straight up into the air above. The recorder soared upwards, almost disappearing into the blue-green. Starscream tracked it with his optics, then raced towards where it looked like it would come down. He thrashed furiously forwards, almost losing his footing and getting dragged away by the current at one point, but as the projector came whizzing back down he managed to lunge forward and catch it, cushioning its impact into the water with his hand. "Ha!" he crowed victoriously, holding the dripping recorder up. Slogging back to the shore, he engaged playback. 

The holo showed a chaotically shifting scene rather reminiscent of the view Starscream was used to seeing during a downspiral. He paused the footage at key points where the appropriate section of river was displayed, carefully checking view after view. The channels appeared to diverge completely, breaking up into two separate streams that flowed off into the distance. As he examined each one, looking for the boat, his heart began to sink. At last, he slowly sat down on the riverbank, staring out across the flowing water with empty optics. There was no boat down either channel.

 

Skyfire came online feeling much better than when he had gone into stasis. He brought his optics online and was just about to greet Starscream when the words froze in his vocalizer. The flowery field was gone; he was now resting in a cool, dim hall built of massive blocks of cut stone. Before him was a raised dias on which rested a statue of what looked to be a four-legged reptilian animal, its back and tail armored with spikes. The creature had blue gems for eyes, its mouth was set with teeth made of what appeared to be gold, and the parts of it that were not covered with golden armor were decorated with stylized silver scales that reminded Skyfire of those of an icthyoid. At first glance the creature's face appeared to be set in a hideous snarl, but Skyfire automatically reminded himself that alien facial expressions were subjective, and what might appear to be a angry snarl to him could well be a welcoming snarl to another species. His optical sensors shifted away from the statue and trailed slowly across the room, taking in heavy sculpted pillars, a floor of stone tiles, and a small opening in the far wall leading away into a dark corridor. At last his attention came to rest on himself. Once again, he was startled; what he had taken to be cords or wires running across his hull were in fact damp strings of flowers. Garlands of alien blossoms were draped around his nose, and ropes of flowers had been strung from his wings and hung over his dorsal fins. The solar panels rested on his back, touched by a beam of dusty sunlight that came in through an open hole in the ceiling and provided the only illumination in the room. 

"Starscream?" Skyfire called tentatively, his voice echoing slightly in the silent room. "Is...anyone there?" There was no response. He tried his radio, but received nothing in return but static.


	7. Repaints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still love the idea behind this fanfic, but my perception of the Decepticons has changed so much that I just can't make myself continue it. Alas, such potential for wacky hijinx, wasted!

_This can no longer be tolerated_ , Megatron decided as he listened to his three Seekers sniping and arguing as they flew back to the base. It had been going on for several weeks now, and was showing no signs of improvement. 

“—think you wanted to miss!”

“What?! You accuse  _me_ of treachery?” 

“Why not? I think you know what I’m talking about.”

“I was trying to hit the blue one, and you teleported right in the way!”

“You should have seen it coming! If you weren’t so bent on that stupid duel—”

“Silence, now! That’s an order!” Starscream finally screamed. In defiance, Thundercracker streaked ahead over the ocean, releasing a chain of deafening sonic booms. Megatron could hear the sound of Skywarp teleporting and appearing somewhere in the distance to the left. Further back he could hear Starscream’s angry mumbling. No, this would never do. To his displeasure, the Seekers had actually hindered each other during the battle instead of working together--a fact which had undoubtedly contributed to the mission's failure. And if that wasn’t enough, they had fought with each other verbally practically the entire time—while they stacked energon cubes, while they strafed the Autobot position, and finally while they fought Autobots hand to hand, never missing a beat. Showing such weakness in front of the enemy was unacceptable.

He knew a deteriorating relationship when he saw one, and this was a classic example. Indeed, he had seen the same pattern repeated before in many triads in his millions of years of functioning—a gradual degeneration of friendliness, followed by arguments, silly disagreements, resentment, and then the last, deadly symptom of violence. At that point, he would have two choices: Separate them and put them into different triads (always a disruptive and upsetting experience for those concerned) or keep them together and let them die. Discipline, with a fusion cannon or otherwise, could not fix a relationship. And it was nearly a certainty that sooner or later, if the Seekers would not watch one another’s backs in a fight, then one of them would be left open to an Autobot shot, and that would be the end of it. Or, even worse, although the former outcome was much more common, wingmates had been known to attack each other—fatally. Then again, sometimes these things fixed themselves. In fact, they almost always did. There were always going to be petty arguments and occasional fights, grudges and the like being an inevitable part of life, but these were no cause for concern. What bothered him in this case was that this triad seemed to be deteriorating particularly rapidly. But of course, it was surprising how long it had held together in the first place; he recalled hearing a story that upon its formation, bets had even been placed on how long it would last. It had been a surprise to many, probably even to the personnel manager who had arranged the combination, that the triad had remained intact as long as it had—and that with Starscream involved too.

Megatron was pulled out of his thoughts by the speck of the elevator rising out of the ocean on the horizon. He was always careful, even in his deepest musings, to keep alert and aware of his surroundings; the practice had saved his life countless times before, and would no doubt do so again. The elevator came up fast and the Decepticons alighted gracefully upon the extended ramp and clomped ungracefully into the elevator. The three Seekers, he noted, were standing on opposite sides of the lift as they descended. He could practically see eyebeams from the glare Skywarp and Starscream were exchanging across the room, while Thundercracker stared darkly at the wall, arms folded crossly. Megatron looked around at the other Decepticons, who were engaged in light chatter about the battle (he knew the serious chatter wouldn’t begin until he was out of their auditory sensor range) and nursing various injuries. Usually, Skywarp and Thundercracker would be in the middle of a small group of other Decepticons, laughing about something that had happened during the battle (unless the battle had gone really, really badly) while Starscream would be standing by them, attempting to get in a word about how well he had performed in said battle. Out of the corner of his optic, Megatron caught Longhaul subtly pointing out Skywarp to Hook and whispering into the other’s auditory sensor. So others were noticing too. That concerned him further, for sometimes discontent in one triad could infect other groups having friendly relations with it. And since the Decepticons had been assigned together on Earth for longer than usual, they had developed closer bonds than were normally to be found in the general military population.  _I’ll give it time_ , Megatron decided.  _If it hasn’t improved in a few weeks, then I’ll have to reassign them..._

 

“I’ve had it Starscream!" Thundercracker exploded. "I’ve had it up to here with you and your shrieky, whiny little voice! And you know what? You can’t—”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Starscream commanded shrilly, raising his null ray at Thundercracker for emphasis. “And you’re the one with the volume problem, ‘Pop’!”

“Why you—!” Thundercracker took a menacing step toward Starscream, hands clenching into fists.

“Cut it out!” Skywarp shouted, stepping between them both and hoping that Starscream wouldn’t shoot anyway.

“He called me Pop,” Thundercracker rumbled ominously.

“I’ll do worse than that too if you don’t show proper respect for your commanding officer!” Starscream screeched. He was falling back on rank to control them now.

“Let it go, let it go!” Skywarp urged. “It’s a just a drop of paint. There’s paint stripper right there, just wipe it off.” One drop of red paint on Thundercracker’s foot, and the conflagration had flared up again.

“Why don’t _you_ wipe it off?” Starscream snapped at him, turning his null ray upon him instead of Thundercracker. 

“No way! You dripped it.”

“So what? I command you!” Starscream said, a superior smirk settling over his face. Skywarp couldn’t stand that smirk. At that point there was a sudden movement from Thundercracker’s direction and Starscream shifted the gun back towards him. But not before Thundercracker’s energy bolt hit Starscream straight in the cockpit, knocking him backwards onto the floor.

“Ha!” Thundercracker shouted as Starscream looked up at him with a mixture of shock and anger. The red and silver Seeker howled in fury and took off, flying up towards the high ceiling of the repair bay and firing down at Thundercracker, missing for the most part as the other leapt aside and ducked behind a counter. Skywarp knew they were going to be in big trouble with Megatron if he ever found out—weapons discharge inside the base was forbidden except for training purposes and beating up on Starscream. Starscream, seemingly realizing that, landed again and unexpectedly, the smirk reappeared. Skywarp followed his optics to the buckets of paint they had been touching each other up with. In an instant he knew what Starscream was going to do. Their leader darted for the paint and Skywarp darted for the door panel. This was going to get messy pretty quick and he didn’t want any witnesses. He pressed the control and the door closed, then he whipped around in time to see Starscream advancing with a bucket his black paint at ready, Thundercracker retreating slowly. The other Seeker glanced at Skywarp, but there was no plea for help in his expression. That was fine, because Thundercracker had been acting like a real jerk lately. 

“Get ‘im Skywarp!” Thundercracker shouted nonetheless, his face blossoming into glee as he pointed at a spot behind Starscream’s back. Starscream glanced backwards quickly and Thundercracker seized the opportunity to leap at the other's chest. Or more aptly, at the bucket of paint in Starscream's hands. With a clatter and a splash, Thundercracker smacked the bucket hard and dashed it up against Starscream, the action sending black paint spilling out on the dusky yellow glass of the silver Seeker's canopy, splashing across his arms, and even flying up to speckle Starscream’s face lightly.

“You’re deactivated Thundercracker! Deactivated!” Starscream shrieked, his eyes actually glowing with rage. He punched Thundercracker up against the nearest wall and the other jetwarrior bounced off and used the momentum to tackle Starscream, bowling them both over in a hitting, kicking floor fight.

“Would you two stop it?” Skywarp demanded, glancing at the door. “If someone comes in and finds you getting paint all over the place and fighting, we’re gonna look stupid.” From somewhere in the fight an energy weapon discharged and hit him in the leg. “That does it,” Skywarp hissed, limping quickly over to the buckets of paint. “I’ve had enough of you guys.” He grabbed Starscream’s red and Thundercracker’s blue, one in each hand, and heaved them over the combatants. It was a glorious splash, splattering all over the two and mixing in with the black paint that they were already covered with. Thundercracker and Starscream froze in position and turned to gape at him with wide optics. A dribble of light blue paint slid down Starscream’s red optic.

“Get him!” Releasing Thundercracker from his armlock, Starscream jumped up and with a quick touch of his foot jets was upon him. Too slow. Skywarp dematerialized and popped out up near the ceiling, looking down to see Starscream land on the floor where he had been a moment ago, leaving a streak of black and blue paint on the deck.

“Too slow, Starslug!” he mocked downwards. Then he heard Thundercracker’s loud jets and was tackled from behind. “Whoh!” he cried as they both fell towards the floor, smashing down hard. Starscream wasted no time, and with a cackle he emptied a bucket of his own silver paint on them both. “I’m gonna get you for that!” Skywarp growled angrily, crawling off of his stomach before Thundercracker could pin him. Starscream grabbed the last bucket of paint, Skywarp’s purple, and threw that too. It hit Skywarp straight in the face, and he heard Thundercracker yelp behind him. The paint covered his optics, blinding him. Then he heard something very ominous. The sound of the sliding door opening.

“ _What is going on in here?!?_ ” 

“Uh oh,” Skywarp heard Thundercracker say. Uh oh was right. That was the unmistakable voice of Megatron.

“Fighting,” the voice of Soundwave stated the obvious. He could hear footsteps coming closer to him, heavy footsteps which meant Megatron. They were in deep, deep, trouble. 

“Megatron—I was—they—” Starscream started, but even he couldn’t come up with an excuse for their situation.

“Silence!” Megatron bellowed, making the matter irrelevant.

 

Megatron pinned Thundercracker to the ground with his glare, shut up Starscream by sticking his fusion cannon in the Air Commander’s face, and to Skywarp, who was blinded with his own purple paint, he tapped the floor with his foot, knowing the vibrations would carry. The three looked suitably cowed, and Megatron knew that he had their undivided attention.

“It has come to my attention,” he began in a low, threatening voice, “that there is some dissatisfaction within your unit.” Starscream started,

“They—” But Megatron just stepped forward so that his fusion cannon was inches away from Starscream’s face. The multicolored Seeker was, thankfully, quiet.

“I have decided…” And then a thought struck him. A thought so devious that he instantly wished he had Soundwave’s face plate. His anger shifted quickly to delighted amusement. After all, he had never managed personally to put a triad back together once it had begun to self destruct...but then again, he had never tried this idea before either. And there was a first time for everything. There before him were his warriors—his inspiration: Starscream covered with black and blue and his own red, Thundercracker doused in silver and red, and Skywarp coated with blue and his own purple. They, and the room, were a Seeker colored mess. With an act of pure willpower, he prevented a smile from slipping onto his faceplate. He continued, “…to show you mercy. You may clean this mess up and Soundwave will assign you custodial duties around the base as punishment.” With that, he wheeled and left the room before his face split into a twisted grin. Of course, he would have to wait awhile and let this incident drop out of their minds. He couldn’t have them figuring out his little scheme, could he? He rubbed his hands together in anticipation as three nervous, paint-bespackled warriors stared after him.

 

_Two weeks later_

Starscream could practically hear the other Decepticons muffling their laughter as they walked past him. But he gritted his figurative teeth and scrubbed the floor harder. Mercy indeed! He would have much preferred a few blasts from Megatron’s fusion cannon compared with this humiliation.  _Someday I’ll make him pay for this—Someday!_ But the ones he was really looking forward to paying off were Thundercracker and Skywarp.  _This is their fault, those wretched excuses for short-circuiting, vacuum headed—!_

“Excuse me,” Reflector said in an extremely polite voice, scootching carefully around him and the puddle of water surrounding him. Starscream realized his optics were glowing fiercely and his face was frozen in a very nasty expression. At least he was getting respect from someone. Angrily the thought brought to mind Skywarp and his typical attitude. Everything seemed to bring to mind his wingmates these days. Skywarp never obeyed his orders, never listened to what he was saying, was disrespectful, and Starscream was sick of it. He had had more than enough of Skywarp’s blathering and foolish jokes—in fact, he was amazed at his own patience. Violently he plunged the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and squeezed it a few times to clean it off. It was fortunate for Skywarp's health that Megatron had given them such a harsh punishment. Starscream hadn't had time to do anything but recharge and work—for two weeks! If he had found any spare time… He crushed the sponge and the water actually squirted out from between his fingers in its haste to flee the area inside his fist. 

He had punished Skywarp for a remark he had made, and Skywarp had been resentful. Then, the datapad containing the report for the year's ordnance consumption had gone mysteriously missing. Megatron had been displeased, and he had looked bad. And Skywarp had seemed cheerful afterwards. Too cheerful. There was no question that he had taken the pad, for no one else could have entered his locked quarters to remove it and he had turned the base upside down looking for it. Since he could prove nothing but knew who the guilty party was anyway, Starscream had begun his own personal campaign of revenge, doing all the little things in his power to make Skywarp’s life miserable. Thundercracker had eventually confronted him about it, and Starscream had told him to keep his nose out of their personal business. Things had only escalated from there. At least one good thing had come out of it—Starscream was beginning to see his wingmates’ faults clearly now. Before, they had been fairly inconspicuous, if occasionally obnoxious. Now, he could point them out like spots of black paint on a white background. Skywarp was juvenile, disrespectful, and loud, not to mention a slob. And cleanliness was one thing Starscream was coming to value after scrubbing all the halls of the base with his own hands. Then there was Thundercracker. Thundercracker was too quiet, too loyal, too squeamish, and too blue.  _What an ugly paint job--it fits his boring personality_ , Starscream thought spitefully. Not to mention that he was Skywarp’s friend. Or at least he had been, up until a few weeks ago. And anyone who had been Skywarp’s friend (which included a lot of people) was no friend of Starscream’s. At one point Starscream might have called Skywarp a friend--or at least a very good acquaintance--but he realized that was absurd now. How he could have ever even remotely considered Skywarp a very good acquaintance, in any sense of the word, was beyond him. 

“Starscream!” He looked up and realized Megatron was standing in front of him, looking down at him with an expression of amusement on his face. “I’m afraid I must interrupt your industrious work on that spot for a briefing.” Starscream abruptly realized that the spot he was working on veritably glowed in comparison to the dull flooring around it. Scowling, he tossed the sponge in the bucket and stood up. The hours on his knees had scratched their paint job, leaving gray marks showing underneath the silver paint. He resented it. Megatron clanked off down the hallway and Starscream followed.

“So, what  _brilliant_ plan have you come up with this time, leader?” he asked sarcastically. 

“You shall see,” Megatron answered in a tolerant, anticipatory voice which didn’t sound upset at all. That wasn’t good. To his surprise, Megatron did not head to the briefing room. Instead, they were going into his private office. That didn’t bode well at all. They stepped inside, and for the first time in two weeks, he saw his wingmates. Glares sizzled across the room like laser bolts fired from three sets of optics, crackling the air between them. Soundwave was there too, but Starscream couldn’t have cared less at the moment.

“I have a top secret mission for you three,” Megatron spoke, a faint, ominous smile breaking out on his face.

“Top secret?” Starscream queried, taking a step closer and sideways, deliberately covering up Skywarp’s face with his wing. He heard Skywarp step to one side behind him so that he could see. Good, served him right.

“Ye-e-es,” Megatron’s voice rose as he drew the word out. The air of amusement seemed to deepen. He got straight to the point. “It seems that the Autobots have developed a new, efficient method of making power rods. We must know how.” Abruptly his amused look vanished as though it had never been. Power rods not only stored more power than energon cubes, but they were also quite stable.

“And why does this need to be top secret? Why doesn’t he have his cassettes figure it out?” Starscream jabbed a finger at Soundwave. “What’s the need for us—me to be involved?” he demanded.

“Soundwave’s cassettes have done all they can,” Megatron informed him, reaching over and pushing a button which brought up an image from the Ark on the viewscreen on the side of the wall. At least, it was probably the Ark. Very few other places had golden orange walls with what appeared to be a stalactite hanging in the foreground. Cliffjumper and Jazz were standing guard in front of a door, silently chatting. “The Autobots create the power rods in there. But there are no video cameras inside for us to tap, and it is kept sealed and guarded night and day. The door appears to be made of solid Duranium, and the actual chamber is deep underground below the Autobot base. In short, the only way we could find of gaining entrance is by teleportation.” Starscream wished he could see Skywarp’s face behind him.

“So what does that have to do with me?” Starscream asked.

“And I?” Thundercracker added.

“I have no idea  _why_ Megatron would need  _you_ … For this mission.” Starscream said, voice oozing with insinuations. Out of the corner of his optic he could see Thundercracker’s hand balling into a fist. Megatron continued on as though nothing was happening, although Starscream had no doubt that he had caught every subtle signal that had been passed between them since they had been summoned together. 

“But as you know, the Ark is coated with Uipzyrdium, making it impossible to teleport in except by line of sight. So, the Autobots will capture you and put you in a holding cell inside the Ark for us.” Megatron looked over at him for the expected reaction. Starscream gave it to him.

“WHAT?! That’s lunacy! You’ve finally lost your mind Megatron!”

 

While Mt. Starscream blew its top, Megatron sat down in the chair behind his deck and propped his feet up, keeping his exterior cool and placid as the ocean above. Starscream obviously didn’t suspect. Ignoring his second in command's screaming (no one who knew Starscream wondered where he had gotten his name) and pacing and highly exaggerated gestures, he examined Skywarp and Thundercracker's reactions. Neither of the two had exchanged even one worried glance, and they were supposed to be friends. The situation had clearly worsened since the paint fight, he noted—even in spite of Soundwave’s carefully scheduled work details, deliberately designed to keep the three in isolation from one another. To their credit, neither Skywarp nor Thundercracker had betrayed any expression of fear, although they might be entitled to it given the danger of the mission he had just made up. Nothing like the threat of imminent death to motivate them to cooperate, he had decided. Finally Starscream brought up the obvious. 

“—and besides all that, the first thing the Autobots will do is remove the power chips from our weapons, not to mention Skywarp’s teleportation chip! This whole idea is—”

“Starscream…” Megatron interrupted.

“—utterly mad! The Decepticons will never follow—”

“Starscream!” Starscream finally paused for a second and Megatron continued. “You didn’t let me finish. The Autobots would not remove a teleportation chip from you, would they Starscream?”

“What do you mean?” Starscream demanded feistily.

“We are  _Decept_ icons, after all.” Megatron said without explaining. It was good to keep Starscream in the dark once in awhile--it helped remind him of his place. Finally, he replied, “Soundwave will be repainting you three in the colors of each other. He will also be switching your vocal emitters.” For once, Starscream was silent. Not that this caused any communications difficulty, because his face said everything with perfect clarity. Before Starscream’s voice could catch up with his dropped lower jaw, Megatron finished. “This is top secret. Mention it to no one but Soundwave or myself, in strict privacy. I want you three to not only look like each other, but to act like each other as well. So you will be practicing your acting on the other Decepticons. Soundwave and his cassettes will inform me when they believe your acting skills are adequate. Any questions?” Skywarp and Thundercracker stared mutely. Starscream, of course, had a  _few_ objections. 

 

Thundercracker couldn’t stop looking at his still-drying silver, red, and blue paint job. He felt strange. Not to mention conspicuous. His normal paint job was a tasteful selection of cool colors; by contrast, Starscream's paint job was a garish, flamboyant display of brightly clashing hues that seemed to scream "Pay attention to me!!!" But it got even weirder when he spoke. Starscream’s vocal emitter was way too high pitched, and if he increased his volume even slightly, his speech came out in a veritable shriek. Across the room and also drying, the real Starscream (now black and purple) was glaring sourly at a blue and gray Skywarp, who was glaring right back. Skywarp was the strangest of all to Thundercracker’s optics, wearing as he was  _his_ own paint job. He felt like he was looking into a malfunctioning mirror. 

“Turn your hand over,” Soundwave requested melodiously. Thundercracker turned his hand over so that Soundwave could paint his palm ‘Starscream blue.’ He had to admit, Soundwave had done a fantastic job on them. His own paint job (now on Skywarp, unfortunately) looked better than it had for at least a thousand years: the colored lines were sharp and straight, there were no spots of bare metal accidentally left unpainted, there were no runs, and the coat was actually even. Soundwave was just as methodical and careful about painting as he was about communications. The communications officer carefully straightened out Thundercracker’s fingers to get blue paint inside all of the joints. Finally he dabbed what amounted to a single drop of paint into the joint that connected his pinky to the rest of his hand—a place that absolutely no one would ever notice. Thundercracker wondered if it was perfectionism or simply pride in doing good work. After all, they would just have to be repainted within the month. Hopefully… If Megatron didn’t think they were acting enough like who they were supposed to be like, it might take even longer. And if Soundwave demanded that their acting be as perfect as their paint job, it might take forever. He just hoped he could convince Soundwave to do the repainting too. At last Soundwave straightened up. “Painting: Completed. Do not move for one point five billion astroseconds.” Starscream grumbled at that. Soundwave ignored him and began cleaning up the small mess he had made around the floor, consisting of rags, dripped paint, etc. It was, in fact, the neatest paint mess Thundercracker ever recalled seeing. 

“So, any dark secrets you’d like to confide before I find them out?” Thundercracker said to Starscream in the other Seeker’s own voice. Did Starscream’s voice naturally sound suspicious, or was it just that he was so used to hearing suspicion in Starscream’s voice that he saw suspicion where none was?

“What do you think?” Skywarp said in Thundercracker’s deep, rough voice, a severely unnerving sound. “Of course he has deep dark secrets. Maybe you should report a few of them to Megatron while you’re him.”

“You’ll be sorry if you do,” Starscream warned him in Skywarp’s smooth, cool voice, his tone seeming to carry extra threat to balance out the lack of body language resulting from his statuesque paint-drying pose. The tone of voice was Starscream’s normal pattern of intonation, but in Skywarp’s voice, and it sounded bizarre. Thundercracker could see why Megatron had wanted them to practice before sending them to the Autobots. He winced mentally; he was not looking forward to going on this mission. They would be lucky if they could all escape at all, and it didn’t reassure him to think that they were all on such bad terms with each other either. If Starscream would only stop being so pushy and nasty—and Skywarp would get in a better mood and stop snapping at him—he knew they would have a lot better chance of getting out alive. But Starscream was never going to improve, and the way things were going with Skywarp… Well, anyway he was too sick of them both to drop it now.

“—then I’ll be sure to tell your enemies about that little incident with the rubber snake,” Skywarp rumbled. “You’ll have no dignity left after I’m done with you. And you know that undignified leaders can never lead the Decepticons.”

“Megatron is undignified enough,” Starscream declared, but it lacked his normal shrill edge. Below him, Soundwave picked up the last paint rag and stood up.

“Cooperation: Suggested,” he said as he left the room.

“Cooperation my sine function!” Starscream snapped after him, the usual biting tone in his voice falling flat under Skywarp's smoothly modulated vocalizer. Thundercracker imitated the remark in Starscream’s own voice, shrill edge and all. That made Skywarp laugh.

“Cooperation my sine function!” Skywarp repeated in Thundercracker’s deep voice.

“You’re saying that wrong,” Thundercracker corrected snidely, something Starscream’s voice excelled at. “Say it, ‘Cooperation? My sine function.’ That’s how I would have said it.” Skywarp opened his mouth to reply, but Starscream butted in.

“You wouldn’t have said it at all,” Starscream snapped smoothly. “Now that Soundwave is gone, I have a few things I’d like you to understand, Thundercracker. You may be using my quarters, my computer, my paint job and my vocal unit, but don’t get any ideas about being commander. I’m still the leader, and if you needed my approval to do something before, you still do.” As he listened, Thundercracker found it hard to believe that Skywarp was not the one talking. 

“Actually,” Thundercracker began, his Starscream voice abnormally loud, “Megatron said that I get to be in charge while we’re in public. So when I say jump, you’d better snap to it.” He smirked—this was such poetic justice. Starscream appeared to be attempting to burn a hole through Thundercracker’s new paint job with his glare, but Thundercracker easily ignored it.

“Well, I’m Skywarp, and I don’t obey orders,” Starscream said scornfully. “All I do is stand around telling inane jokes and making messes, so don’t expect me to do much.”

“That’s not true!” Skywarp protested angrily.

“Isn’t it?” Starscream sniffed.

“You should talk!” Thundercracker shrieked accidentally. He lowered his voice and continued. “I’ll have to go out of my way just to find enough ways of disobeying Megatron.”

“Have fun. Perhaps he’ll even shoot you a few times for realism’s sake,” Starscream sneered.

“Or perhaps I won’t annoy him. He may decide that he’d rather have me as Air Commander instead,” Thundercracker was impressed by how much insinuation Starscream’s vocal emitter could produce.

“You… Wretched… Despicable…!” Starscream began to snarl, fingers clenching slightly out of position, not quite enough to mess up his paint.

“No Megatron! Please! I can explain!” Thundercracker mimicked Starscream’s most pathetic whine. “Pleeeaase… Don’t shoot me!” Skywarp broke up laughing and teleported himself, still frozen in his painting pose, next to Thundercracker so that he could get a better view of Starscream’s face. Thundercracker was pleased with the result. Starscream’s face was twisted in fury. Thundercracker could tell that just one more insult, and the other Seeker would explode. Good.

“You will be sorry,” Starscream hissed. Then his face assumed its typical Megatron-produced contemptuous look. He said nothing more. It looked alien on Skywarp’s face plate. Nothing else was said for the last of the one point five billion astroseconds. As the three now-dry Seekers filed out in total silence, Soundwave gave a melodic sigh from the room next door, where he was listening with his stethosensor to the wall. This was not going as well as Megatron was hoping...

 

 

“‘Warp! Hey Skywarp, wait up!” Those weren’t the words that Starscream wanted to hear at the moment. What he wanted to hear was, ‘Thundercracker has fallen into a pit of Corlonium crystals.’ And he wanted to get to his quarters and kick something around very hard. Actually, now that he thought about it, he was going the wrong way, having automatically taken the route to his own quarters. He was supposed to go to Skywarp’s filthy quarters—ugh.  _But I can’t even do that, because here comes that ridiculous moron Longhaul, and I’m expected to tell jokes and babble mindlessly._ He walked faster, but Longhaul caught up and began talking. “You looked pretty mad after the battle yesterday. Get things fixed up with Thundercracker yet?” 

“Things will never be fixed up with that imbecile,” Starscream declared. Longhaul froze for a second and asked, 

“Really?” Starscream didn’t reply. “That’s pretty bad,” Longhaul stated the obvious.

“It was no loss,” Starscream replied, barely keeping the ice out of Skywarp’s too-quiet, too-low voice. Longhaul stared at him and Starscream wondered how the Constructicon was expecting him to act.

“Are you sure?” Longhaul said finally. “I thought Thundercracker was your best friend.”  _Who needs friends_ , Starscream thought.  _I hope this moron gets a clue and leaves me alone soon._ He turned right at the corridor intersection and headed for Skywarp’s corridors, Longhaul trailing close behind. 

“Trust me. I am completely sure that that brick-brained moron was never meant to be a friend of mine.”  _And neither are you._

“Look, I know Starscream’s being a jerk, but you’re taking it out on Thundercra—” Longhaul’s sympathetic voice was interrupted when Starscream wheeled and smashed him against the wall, then stalked off at top speed. Longhaul stared after him in complete shock. “And on me,” he finally concluded, getting up and heading off to find someone else to talk to about Skywarp’s problems.

 

 

“You’re being unusually quiet, Stahscream.” Megatron said, and for the first time Thundercracker noticed that Megatron didn’t fully pronounce the first ‘r’ in Starscream’s name.

“Pardon—” He cut himself off just in the nick of time, then continued on a sarcastic note. “…me!” He knew Starscream would have attached  _some_ biting remark to the end of that, but he couldn’t think of any. They were standing in the command center, Soundwave seated at the communications console, quietly scanning away. Megatron was watching over his shoulder, occasionally asking a question. Thundercracker walked over to stand behind Soundwave’s other shoulder where Starscream customarily did. Of course, since he hadn’t been privy to this data before today, he had very little to add to the discussion. 

“And you have a new paint job too, I see,” Megatron accused, turning to look at him. “You squander our precious resources on your vanity.”  _So he’s going to treat me like Starscream then_ , Thundercracker concluded. He managed to think up a Starscreamish response:  _And you squander our precious resources on your idiotic plans! If I was the leader we would have won the war by now._ ...But he couldn't bring himself to say it. 

 

 

Thundercracker had trouble keeping the grin off of his face. He had seen this argument a thousand times before. The script was practically written down for him to read.

“Ha!” Megatron gave a barking laugh. “You couldn’t lead a turbofox on a leash!”

“Think what you will Megatron. One day I shall be leader of the Decepticons.” Thundercracker folded his arms and put on a Starscream air.

“Never, Stahscream,” Megatron said emphatically. “Never!” And the Decepticon leader said it with a straight face too.

“Resources found,” Soundwave said, bringing up one of Reflector’s pictures on the main screen. It was a picture of some jagged orangish crystals poking out of a cliff.

“Ah… Perfect," Megatron said, putting his hands on the back of Soundwave’s chair and leaning forward to look at the picture more closely.

“What are those?” Thundercracker asked, looking closer himself.

“Hplonite crystals,” Soundwave intoned. “A great deal of energy is stored within their highly organized molecular structure.”

“They are among the most energy rich resources in the galaxy,” Megatron added.

“Great,” Thundercracker said. “Let’s go get them and harvest their energy.” Hmm… ‘Great’ didn’t sound like something Starscream would have said.

“Patience Starscream. We must proceed with caution. You forget the Autobots have been seen in the same area within the week.”

“Autobots? A real leader wouldn’t be hiding in fear because of some supposed Autobot presence!” Thundercracker said. Starscream couldn’t have done better himself, he decided. He was getting good at this.

“It is exactly such lack of foresight which proves you will never rule the Decepticons,” Megatron snorted, pouring on the disdain. “A good leader considers every possibility and accounts for it.”

“Then perhaps if you would act more like a good leader we would win more battles.” Thundercracker said. And the moment he had said it, he knew he had gone too far. Heads turned on the other side of the command center.

“You overstep your boundaries, Starscream,” Megatron said in a taut voice. Thundercracker backed up a step, knowing from experience that at this point begging and pleading would only make the situation worse. His only hope was that Starscream had been accumulating brownie points—yeah right. He knew Megatron wouldn’t tolerate this kind of direct insubordination from anyone, even Starscream, and especially not in front of witnesses. Suddenly Megatron took a step forward and knocked him sprawling across the deck with one powerful blow. Momentarily stunned, Thundercracker lay there and, actually, felt relieved Megatron hadn’t used his the fusion cannon. _That was sure nice of him_ , he thought with more gratitude than anger. Heads turned inconspicuously back to their own stations, and Thundercracker sat back up. Megatron had turned disdainfully back to the Hplonite crystal reports and was apparently ignoring him. Warily, Thundercracker stood up and stepped back behind Soundwave, a little further back this time, and continued watching. He wanted to rub his cheek and see if there was any damage, but it would look bad so he attempted to ignore the pain instead. Starscream, he decided, either had a thick hide or a thick head to keep on provoking Megatron like he did. Probably both. It wasn’t every ‘con who would court danger on a daily basis by irritating someone nicknamed ‘the Slagmaker.’ In fact, Starscream was the only Decepticon he knew who would dared. _Lucky me, now I get to learn how too_ , Thundercracker thought gloomily. Lesson 1: Know the limits. Don’t use blatant, direct insults. He assumed a submissive posture and respectfully asked another question. 

 

 

“Hiya, Longhaul,” Skywarp greeted the Constructicon with his customary enthusiasm, then realized that A, Thundercracker didn’t usually sound that enthusiastic, and B, Longhaul didn’t look very happy. “What’s up?”

“Skywarp just punched me up against the wall for nothing,” Longhaul complained.

“What?!” Skywarp demanded. _Starscream!_

“I just said, “I know Starscream’s being a jerk, but you’re taking it out on Thundercracker,” and then he hauled away and socked me. What do you think of that?”

“He must be very stressed out,” Skywarp ground out. He’d be lucky if Starscream hadn’t completely destroyed his friendships by the time this was over.

“So what happened between you two now?” Longhaul continued.

“What?”

“Skywarp also said unequivocally that he no longer wished to be your friend.”

“Is that so?” Skywarp said, sounding not in the least bit surprised. “I know that. And exactly what do you mean, ‘Skywarp’s taking it out on me?’”

“Oh, he’s just dumping on you. I’ll admit it’s inconsiderate, but you don’t know the pressure he’s been under,” Longhaul said in a conciliatory tone. Skywarp found himself surprised by Longhaul’s loyalty. He would have expected the Constructicon to give up after being belted by Starscream, but he had not… But dumping on Thundercracker? He hadn’t been doing that, had he?

“You honestly think Skywarp’s dumping on me?” he rumbled in Thundercracker's gruff tones, and felt himself straining to produce a higher pitched voice as he reached the end of the sentence.

“No doubt about it. It’s like a chain reaction. Take this one time about three weeks ago when Megatron and Starscream got into that big fight. Starscream got knocked around a bit, crawled out of the command center, stood up and went stalking off on one of his little fits. I was following him on the way to the Wreck Room. Anyway, Skywarp was unfortunate enough to bump into him in the corridor and well, you could hear them shrieking and yelling all the way from the bridge. An hour later you walk into my quarters all glum because Skywarp snapped at you for no reason. See?” Skywarp could recall the incident in question, but he also remembered that Thundercracker had deserved a good scolding for not getting the inventory done and blaming it on Shockwave.

“Actually, I deserved that.”

“Come on, you know you didn’t. You couldn’t help it that Shockwave hadn’t gotten it done yet. Accidents happen.” So it was really an accident, Skywarp realized. He’d thought that Thundercracker had been passing the buck and slacking—the idea of Shockwave not finishing a project before the deadline was too absurd to be believed. But then, after all of the screaming matches he’d been having with Starscream these last few months, _everything_ had started to look suspicious. 

“I suppose you’re right about that time,” Skywarp admitted in that bizarrely deep voice. “But I still say that a lot of this is actually Thu—my fault, not… Skywarp’s. I mean, what about the time when I—” He realized he was speaking too much in Skywarp style. _Gotta slow down, be more deliberate._ “—went one on one with Hound and was supposed to be guarding Skywarp’s back and he got shot?” _Wait, this isn’t the kind of thing Thundercracker would be saying. I sound like I’m trying to blame myself._ His mind spun around as he tried to keep his perspective straight. And Longhaul was regarding him oddly. 

“So, you do want to be friends with Skywarp again?” That question hurt. He was tempted to answer ‘no,’ but that would be dishonest. And he really didn’t want to lie to someone who was still trying to fix up his friendship with Thundercracker despite the fact that ‘Skywarp’ had just punched him. 

“Yes,” he answered reluctantly, speaking as he truly felt, not as Thundercracker would have spoken. “But I’m not going to unless he comes to me first. He owes me an apology or ten. And in the mood he’s in, I wouldn’t try anything right now.” He hoped Longhaul wouldn’t act on that advice until Starscream was no longer black and purple. It should be okay, because there was no way Starscream would ever, ever, in a million years, or in ten million years for that matter, apologize to him. Which was kind of a pity, because Skywarp had wasted a lot of time trying to get Starscream to loosen up. _What was I thinking? He’ll never change. He can go ahead and be his own mean, nasty self and enjoy having no friends._

“I’ll see what I can do,” Longhaul said sincerely. “But you might have to go to him first.”

“I don’t think so.” Skywarp said stubbornly. Longhaul sighed.

“Thundercracker, you can be so obstinate sometimes. What’s more important, your friend or your pride?” Skywarp was surprised by Longhaul’s frank manner. The Constructicon was normally far more diplomatic than this. He supposed that Thundercracker’s relationship with Longhaul must be somewhat different than his own.

“Well… I suppose my friend. But that would only be if I still considered him my friend.”

“Ha! You can’t get rid of liking him that easily.”

“It’s not that hard.” Skywarp said, folding his arms. _If you only knew how he’s been acting!_

“I can see this is going to be harder than I thought.” Longhaul stated. “But one thing—if he told me honestly that he wanted to be friends with you again, would you drop your grudge?” Skywarp considered, and the memories of the good times they had had together won over the recent bitterness.

“I would,” Skywarp said. “But I don’t think you’ll have much luck.”

“I have my ways,” Longhaul said mysteriously. “See you later.” He split off down a side corridor and Skywarp stared after him, getting the feeling that he had just hired the services of an assassin.

 

 

“Skywarp, you disgusting slob!” Starscream fumed, tossing yet another datapad over into the pile by the door. He had found eleven so far, some of them with status reports ten years old on them. He just couldn’t bear to leave Skywarp’s quarters as it was. He had to clean it up a little—it was almost an obsession. He picked up a piece of unidentifiable rusty metal and hurled it at the recycling bin with such force that it bounced out and ended up on the floor again. But Starscream was too busy dragging more stuff out of the entryway to notice. He hadn’t been very happy when he had opened the door and items had come tumbling out into the hallway.

For the next few minutes, he threw, kicked, and dragged junk (for to his optics that was all there was in Skywarp’s room) from one side of the room to the other until he had managed to clear an aisle from the doorway to the recharge bed. Finally, he was able to stand on the floor without crunching things underfoot at every step. Having taken some of his anger out on Skywarp’s junk, he made his way over to the recharge bed, carelessly knocking the assembled doodads off and lying down. Sighhh… even Skywarp’s ceiling was messy. There were funny stains on the purple ceiling, not to mention dents and a long piece of wire hanging down. He threw an arm over his optics to relieve them of the sight. His arm was colored with Skywarp’s foreign purple. “What did I do to deserve this?” he moaned bitterly. His voice was Skywarp's soft, bland voice. “Skywarp is a complete and utter slob. He doesn’t need half of this.”  _I mean, the rock collection maybe, but a metal shavings collection? That’s just absurd. And I’m stuck here for at least a week..._ He didn’t think either Skywarp or Thundercracker were good enough actors to get the farce he was stuck in over with any sooner. And then they had Megatron’s ridiculous plan to go through with.  _He wants us to risk our lives on a spy mission when we should attack in force. This plan will never work, and we’ll have died for nothing._ And he could only imagine what Thundercracker was getting them into up in the command center.  _Without my expert advice, Megatron will run us down whatever foolish course suits his fancy, with no one to stop him._ And there was still the problem his quarters to worry about. He drummed his fingers tensely on the recharge bed, trying not to imagine Thundercracker eagerly rummaging through his quarters. Starscream quickly reviewed all of the items he had left in there, hoping there wasn't anything incriminating for Thundercracker to find.  _No_ , he thought for the third time.  _And on my personal computer?_ He drew a blank. Good, his natural caution had paid off. Still, the idea of Thundercracker touching and playing with his private possessions irritated him to no end. There was plenty of stuff in his quarters which would give the other jetwarrior enough conversation starters for weeks. The thought drew out another groan.  _Maybe I should go up to the command center and—no I shouldn’t. First, I can’t go through all that classified information painted up as Skywarp, and second, I’ll just end up shouting at Megatron for the idiocy he’s no doubt involved in in my absence._ Starscream could only imagine what his _leader_ was up to by now. He got up off of the recharge bed and paced back in forth nervously in the little corridor he had cleared for himself. 

Suddenly somebody knocked on the door. Starscream wished he had stayed quietly in recharge so that he would have an excuse not to answer—but undoubtedly the other had heard him pacing around, and Starscream knew Skywarp almost never refused a visitor. He took a brief, irritated moment to compose himself, preparing himself to act like the black and purple Seeker he now resembled.

“Come in!” he said, keeping most of the irritation out of his voice. The door opened, and there stood Scavenger, arms loaded full of worthless junk.

“Hey, ‘Warp! Look at this great stuff I picked up from the recycling bins today!” Starscream didn’t have to try very hard not jump with glee.

“Wow!” he said instead, stepping closer to Scavenger and taking a closer look. “That’s a real dud missile there, isn’t it?” Scavenger walked down the narrow corridor, barely making it past Starscream, and dumped his load on the freshly cleaned recharge bed, tiny items of junk showering down in his wake.

“Look at this,” Scavenger said enthusiastically, pulling up a scrap piece of metal painted with flames. “Isn’t this a great paint job?”

“Yeah, great,” Starscream said, barely managing to suppress the sarcastic edge that threatened to creep into his voice. Juuust great.

“A really funny thing happened to me yesterday,” Scavenger said, spreading out the miscellaneous items so that they could all be seen in all their glory. _Oh no, now he’s going to make me listen to some abysmally boring tale about the recycling bins._ “Me and Bonecrusher were doing the recycling, and we found this foot sticking out of one of the boxes. Well, we pulled it out, and it was Rumble! Guess how he got in there?” 

“He fell in?”

“No.” Scavenger leaned forward conspiratorially. “Somebody threw out those balloons Frenzy gave him, and he was trying to get them out by crawling through the bins looking for them—until the deactivation ray hit him. He gave me half the balloons in gratitude for saving him before he went into the slag pit. Think you could find a use for these?” His voice ended on a gleeful note. He pulled out a rusty can full of little blue, yellow, and green rubber things. Unfortunately, Starscream had no idea what a balloon was. Skywarp was the one who was so interested in human culture...

“Oh, definitely,” he nonetheless said in a mischievous whisper. He picked up the can and slid it under Skywarp’s recharge bed. He felt it knocking into several other items below said bed.

“What are you gonna do with them?” Scavenger asked.

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something good,” Starscream assured him, giving a hackle-raising chuckle. He probably _should_ play a few practical jokes to do a complete impersonation of Skywarp. And he knew just the target he would hit--"Thundercracker"! 

“Tell me when you do,” Scavenger said with anticipation. “I want to be there when you pull it off.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know,” Starscream’s face twisted into a devious grin, his mood suddenly improved. “Now, what else have you brought me?”

“Check this out…” Scavenger said, pointing at a piece of curled up metal in a rough spiral.

 

 

Thundercracker smirked as he pulled open another one of Starscream’s subspace compartments, looking for a diary, embarrassing photographs, or anything else that he could publicly humiliate the other with. What have we here? One Earth poster of Megatron with ‘the enemy’ written on it, a ‘Repair Yourself’ kit, and… Ah ha! A datapad. Thundercracker’s smirk broadened into a wide grin of anticipation. He picked it up, activated it, and read: “Treachery as an Art," by Starscream: "While many desire to command, few are able to take the necessary steps to procure it. This manuscript is intended as a practical guide for the budding commander to…” Thundercracker had to stop reading at that point, because he was laughing too hard to hold the pad any longer. Wracked by fits of hysterical cackling, he flopped over backwards on Starscream’s bed and pounded on it with a fist to relieve his mirth. When his laughter had subsided to the point he was able to sit up again, he got up and picked up the pad. “…find that special spot in command chair. It won’t be easy, but with practice and persistence…”

“Hahahahaaaaa!” Thundercracker shrieked in abnormally high pitched laughter. “Oh, I’ve got to show this to Skywarp. He’ll—” The thought struck like the lash of cold rain on his fuselage. No, Skywarp wouldn’t be cracking up about it, because Skywarp wasn’t on speaking terms with him. He sat down on Starscream’s recharge bed and thought. _Skywarp has insulted me, ignored me, fought with me, and generally been real ugly. I have no reason to want to be around him right now. But yet I still miss the little retro-rat! At least, the way he used to be._ Once again, his mind drifted back along the familiar memory links into happier times. Like the play-fights they used to have together. Shouting insults and compliments and doing trick flying stunts while trying to tag one another—but they hadn’t had one of those for months now. The thought of never having another one with Skywarp and… well, maybe Starscream, but only because he was such a challenge to shoot down… depressed him. And he began to wonder. Was there a way to get back into Skywarp’s good graces? You tried that, remember? He answered himself glumly. It was true. Several times, in fact, he had attempted to fix things up, but it never seemed to stay fixed. Skywarp was just… Too upset? Too uptight with him? He couldn’t explain it, but some of the other Decepticons he had discussed it with said they had noticed the same thing. And even if he did go to Skywarp with another offer of friendship, he wasn’t sure Skywarp would even accept it. After all, it wasn’t like Thundercracker himself was completely the victim. After patiently enduring the insults and provocation for some weeks, he had bitten right back when Skywarp snapped, and things had gotten chillier and chillier between them ever since then. He was afraid it had gone too far, and there might not be a way to return things to the way they were supposed to be. 

Deep in thought, he rested his head on his bright blue hand and pain flared abruptly. He had forgotten about the dent Megatron had left. Oh well, that was probably why Starscream had the ‘Repair Yourself’ kit anyway. He got up and took out the kit. Finding a bottle of Dent Out inside, he squirted a nanite goo solution into his intake port, from where it would be conveyed up to his cheek to assist his regular repair system with its duties. A little dent like this didn’t need to be hammered out, just evened out a bit. He was actually fortunate Megatron hadn’t given him worse… He put the kit away and pulled out the datapad Soundwave had handed him. Some paperwork ought to distract him from his problem. He punched a few buttons to display all the assignments he had been given and winced at the sight. Ouch! There was enough work on the datapad to keep him occupied for days. Status reports, evaluations, the triad’s requisition list, battle reports, personnel assignments--all needing to be answered, dealt with, drawn up, or distributed… The to-do list just went on and on and on. Soundwave had told him that the critical details, the ones he was unqualified to fill in, had already been completed for him. Thundercracker hoped that that meant a lot. With a reluctant sigh he pulled the chair back from the Air Commander’s desk and plugged the datapad into the computer, then sat down to get to work.

 

Skywarp looked down the hallway both directions, then stopped to listen for a second. No footsteps. It ought to be safe. He tapped in the buttons to his own quarters, and stepped in, hardly noticing the path that had been made to the recharge bed. A black and purple Starscream, who had been kicking back on said recharge bed, dropped the datapad he had been holding and snapped to his feet. The door slid shut.

“'Thundercracker,'” Starscream said in a tone loaded with scorn. It was bizarre to hear his own voice coming from someone else's mouth. “What brings you to _my_ quarters?” As though to emphasize the point, Starscream kicked a loose gear into the stuff now crammed against the sidewalls. 

“You bring me,” Skywarp matched scorn with contempt. “With your worthless acting skills and your petty lack of self control.” 

“Your moronic friend had it coming,” Starscream hissed. “He couldn’t take a hint. Now why don’t you take one, and leave.” Skywarp walked up to Starscream until he was eye to eye with the newly black and purple painted Seeker, and started, using Thundercracker’s deep tones to their fullest ability,

“Starscream…” he dropped his voice further in menace, “If you think I’ve made your life miserable up till now… You haven’t seen anything yet. So unless you’d like to find out just how much you can take, leave my friends alone.”

“Leave your friends alone?” Starscream asked in an innocent voice, eyes widening. “Why Skywarp, does the thought of me talking to your friends disturb you? It should.” His innocent tone turned into a hateful threat. Skywarp stared into Starscream’s burning optics for a moment, his anger finding a counterpart in Starscream’s animosity.

“I guess we’ll see just what kind of metal you’re made of then," he finally replied, eyes narrowing. Starscream stared back defiantly. He held the gaze for a second longer, then turned and marched out of the room without a backwards glance. He could almost feel Starscream’s optics tracking him out, and half expected to feel the bolt of a null ray on his back, but there was no sound at all. As the door slid shut, he could hear a soft murmur,

“Oh yes, you will.” _I will indeed,_ Skywarp thought darkly. He considered Starscream’s threat as he stalked off towards the Wreck Room to blow off some steam. He had meant what he’d said about making Starscream’s life miserable. Skywarp had a lot of friends, friends who would be all to happy to help him make Starscream regret the day he’d come online. But the other Seeker was no defenseless target himself; after all, his best enemy was Megatron. And that led him to Starscream’s remark about his friends. What could he be planning? He can’t really alienate them from me, because everyone will know it was him and not me after this is over… Was he planning to harm them? That didn’t really seem like something Starscream would do, just to get revenge on him. Starscream’s normal style was to go strike directly at the person, not mess around with others to do this kind of work for him. His thoughts were interrupted by his arrival at the Wreck Room. He stalked over to a table and sat down in deep thought, momentarily forgetting why he had come in the first place as he considered the problem. _I hope none of Thundercracker’s friends are present, because I’m not going to make a very good conversationalist at the moment,_ he thought. But the others were too preoccupied in attempting to shoot a small can off of the head of one of Reflector’s components too notice. Evidently they planned to justify the weapons fire under the guise of ‘target practice.’ Skywarp stared at the scratched table before him, recycling Starscream’s words over and over as he tried to guess the other’s intentions. Maybe it had been an idle threat after all—he couldn’t think of anything Starscream could, or would, do which involved his friends. 

“Having fun?” The sound of his own voice jerked him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Starscream approaching the other Decepticons. Starscream glanced over at him and a nasty smirk crossed his face before he turned away, just enough for Skywarp to see he was about to get the first installment on Starscream’s threat.

“I almost had it,” Scavenger was saying with annoyance, glancing over at Starscream’s now placidly grinning face. Another hole was now burning centimeters away from the can, smoke wafting lightly off of the wall. Reflector, a relieved smile crossing his face, said, 

“Your turn.” Scavenger took the can and backed up against the wall, placing it on his head.

“Let me take a shot at this,” Starscream said, stepping up to the firing line. Skywarp watched, and quickly guessed what Starscream’s intention was. One of the few Decepticons that Megatron trusted to fire him in gun mode, the only Decepticon Skywarp had ever seen who could shoot buzzing flies out of the air, was going to miss. And guess who he was going to hit? Well, he wouldn’t give the smirker the enjoyment of having him see it in person. Standing up, he made his way loudly out of the room. He guessed that should at least deprive Starscream of most of the satisfaction of shooting Scavenger...

 

Starscream watched in disappointment as Skywarp left the room, and then someone put a hand on his shoulder. Flinching, he looked back and saw Longhaul with a sympathetic look on his face. Oh no, he’d encouraged the moron into thinking he cared about ‘Thundercracker.’ Starscream, you’ve got to keep your emotions off your face! Longhaul, how many times would I have to hit you to get you dislike me? The other Decepticons had begun to chant, “Skywarp, Skywarp, Skywarp,” so ignoring Longhaul, who had thankfully removed his hand, he pointed his weapon directly at the can, steadied his aim, and prepared to fire.

“Make it quick,” Scavenger joked, deactivating his optics. Hmmmm… With Skywarp gone, he wouldn’t get that much satisfaction out of shooting Scavenger (even though the other was still a pest). And the other Decepticons would eventually know who had fired the shot… Therefore his reputation as a marksman must be upheld. Deciding to forgo his revenge through this particular avenue, he sighted down his perfectly lined up arm and fired. His laser burnt a smoking hole into the dead center of the can. The crowd erupted in cheers and he stiffened tightly as Longhaul and several others began pounding him on the back enthusiastically. This was not how one treated one’s commanding officer!

“Good shot!”

“Excellent aim!”

“Not-t b-bad.”

“Luck,” Starscream dismissed, attempting to imitate Skywarp’s good-natured response. But the warm, unfeigned praise was heady stuff, and he suddenly found himself in a genuinely good mood.

“I’m alive?” Scavenger feigned amazement as he took the can off of his head and then looked surprised at the centeredness of the hole.   
“Not for long,” Scrapper said, tossing him an even smaller can. Scavenger caught it with dismay. 

“Awww…” he groaned.

“Did you leave me anything good in your will?” Starscream asked, allowing a mischievous Skywarp grin to spring to his lips.

“Absolutely. But I’m writing you out as of now,” Scavenger replied, taking a step backwards and setting the small can on his head. “But don’t worry; I’ll probably be in a more generous mood assuming that I don’t wake up in the repair bay.” Just then Starscream’s audio sensors picked up the heavy tread of a large transformer entering the Wreck Room. Besides the obvious weight the familiar footfalls carried, Starscream could tell by the immediate quieting down of the others that it could only be one person. Megatron. He quickly turned to see the other taking in their activity with casual red optics. Automatically he generated several excuses of varying degrees of pitifulness to explain the activity, but Megatron merely smiled and walked over to the energon dispenser without commenting. Well, the fun was over. Starscream knew it because the same quieting of Wreck Room happened whenever he himself walked into a room, at least momentarily. If he was quiet and acted like he was ignoring the others, it would usually start up again, but in this case since their activity was on the borderline of acceptability it probably wouldn’t. Several of the Decepticons split off from the group and headed for the door, while a few others stayed to watch what Starscream knew would be the final shot of the game. Scavenger waited, perfectly and wisely still against the back wall. This shot would be a little bit tougher, but hardly difficult for him. He supposed, however, that since he was supposed to be Skywarp, and Skywarp didn’t possess his marksmanship talents, he should aim for somewhere other than the dead center. He targeted the top right hand corner, and then, from in back of him, he heard a deep clunk which could only be Megatron leaning up against the back wall. Watching him. Forget about being Skywarp! Megatron would remind him of this incident for years if he didn’t hit the can perfectly. He could just imagine the Megatron’s self-satisfied, mocking voice bringing it up, knowing full well that Starscream had missed on purpose, and also knowing that he would never admit to Starscream that he actually believed the miss had been deliberate. Carefully, Starscream adjusted his aim so that he was pointing at the very center, and even more carefully, without moving his arm, he fired. The energy of the blast knocked the can off of Scavenger’s head and it sailed away, bouncing to the floor. Scavenger hadn’t even flinched when he’d fired; it was a good thing too, because mere centimeters separated the top of his head from the little burnt mark now smoking above it. Hook, the nearest, picked up the can and made a less than impressed noise. Of course, his idea of accuracy would be a bit different from everyone else's...

“Where did I hit it?” Starscream asked, as though he wasn’t expecting to have hit the exact center.

“Way off,” Hook pointed, holding the can (which appeared to have been hit perfectly in the center) out for all to see.

"It looks dead center to me," Scavenger observed innocently.

“Whoh. I think I’ll have it electrum plated and mounted,” Starscream said, managing a satisfied but surprised voice. Hook tossed him the can, and Starscream opened one of his subspace compartments and put it inside. Scrapper mischievously flashed him a third, more miniscule can to show what he had been planning to do, but pocketed the can before Megatron could see it. Starscream smirked at the mutual knowledge that they were hiding from their leader.

“Extra energon for the victorious champion!” Longhaul called, heading over to the dispenser and taking out one of the bigger cubes.

“Take it out of my share,” Scavenger said, clapping him on the back. “You can collect early on that will.” Starscream smiled, and this time it was a real smile.

 

Boooooring… Thundercracker sighed, staring at the computer screen with optics that didn’t really read the status report. It was so hard to concentrate on this dull stuff he felt like he was shutting down. 


End file.
